Six Months
by CassandraMcCord
Summary: Henry is sent on a mission that necessitates everyone in his life believeing that he's dead- including his wife and children. Their lives are irreversibly changed...or are they?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! After 115 one shots just since January, I finally broke down and started a multichapter. If you're following me on tumblr, you've heard about this one, and if you're not- well, welcome! This is an extension of the one-shot that I posted yesterday, of the same title, in Collections From the McCord Files, Volume II. This will delve much much deeper into the same concept, and it's extremely angsty. So good luck! Please let me know what you think in the reviews. x**

On a quiet street in Georgetown, rain was pounding the McCord home. It lashed angrily against the windows in attempts to shatter the peaceful warmth that lie beyond the panes of glass that separated Elizabeth McCord and her three children from the harsh reality that existed outside. She had always liked that feeling, the amniotic tranquility of being shut inside her warmly lit home while the storm raged outside. That's what she was thinking about as she glanced out the front windows at the reflective wet pavement outside. It was just past dusk, and darkness had fallen over DC. Elizabeth was feeling especially calm; it had been a quiet day at the office, and she'd left early to be home with the kids since Henry was on an op overseas. She wasn't sure where exactly; it hadn't been of importance. The op itself was neither long nor complicated, Henry had assured her before he had left three mornings ago. The children, she supposed, were old enough to be home by themselves. But they all missed Henry when he wasn't around, and she certainly took no issue with taking advantage of his absence to get home a little earlier and spend time with Stevie, Alison, and Jason. She couldn't help but marvel a little bit as she listened to their familiar banter in the kitchen, at how grown-up they had all become. It felt as if she'd just blinked and suddenly her dependent, sweet infants were adults or nearly so. She shook her head and glanced behind her desk at the array of family photos that were placed amongst the extensive collection of books that she and Henry had amassed over the years. There were snapshots of their life together, from cheesy spring break smiles to wedding photos to the births of their children and beyond- photos of a beautiful, messy, incredible empire that they'd built together, she and Henry. She was proud of that, in so many ways that she didn't think she could count them all. Her eyes landed on a photo of Henry, her at his side, taken in the early 90's. Henry was wearing his uniform, but he was smiling brightly for the camera. He'd never been great at the stoic Marine face. Elizabeth, for her part, seemed as if she couldn't have cared less that the camera was there at all; she stood slightly on her tiptoes with Henry's arm slung casually around her, her body angled toward him as she gazed at him with eyes that sparkled through the intervening years to portray a deep and true love for the Marine in his dress blues. She couldn't remember the occasion, or who had taken the photo, but she could easily recall the feeling that accompanied it. She'd been enamored with Henry then, as she was now. That feeling emerged every time he rolled over to look at her early in the morning or when he watched her while he thought she wasn't paying attention. Fluttering, exciting, beautiful love that only seemed to deepen with every passing day. Elizabeth smiled slightly and leaned back in her chair. She had always hoped for this life; for a life in which she and Henry could love one another more with every moment spent together. It was, in reality, all Elizabeth had ever really wanted.

Suddenly, red and blue lights were flashing in Elizabeth's peripheral vision. She stood curiously to peer out the front window, and was greeted with the sight of a motorcade more impressive than her own, and one that she recognized easily. Elizabeth sighed; this couldn't be good. The President had made house calls to Elizabeth before, and each time it had ended with something life-altering. She wished this particular visit, whatever it was going to be about, could have waited until Monday, when Henry would be home. She wasn't a fan of approaching life-altering house calls from the President without Henry. Nevertheless, the President was outside her door and so she stepped out from behind her desk and headed into the hallway. She pulled the door open and smiled at her former boss. Then, she got a glimpse of his face, and her heart dropped.

Something was very, very wrong and Elizabeth knew it in an instant. She'd seen Conrad look devastated before, and that was what was in his eyes that night. Suddenly, her quiet tranquility was shattered and she was immediately tense.

"Bess," Conrad said, sounding vaguely hoarse in addition to grave.

"Mr. President," she replied. "Please, come in."

He stepped inside as if he were reluctant to do so, and Elizabeth leaned against her desk, elegant wrists turned outward as she used her palms to brace herself against the edge of the piece of furniture. Conrad stood before her, unaccompanied by Russell or Secret Service agents. Elizabeth watched him, and the more she took in, the more unsettled she became.

"What are you doing here, sir?" she asked. He met her eyes and she was struck by the notion that maybe she was better off not knowing whatever he was about to tell her.

"I'm here about Henry," he admitted, and Elizabeth's stomach was doing somersaults at his words.

"What about Henry?" she asked quickly, biting and harsh. Conrad hung his head.

"Bess, this op...it wasn't as simple as had been expected," he began. It looked as if he were forcing himself not to look away from Elizabeth's piercing blue eyes as she spoke softly, aware that her children were in the other room. Their idle chatter could still be heard across the living and dining rooms, drifting into Henry and Elizabeth's office.

"What does that mean?" she asked slowly. "Is he hurt?"

Conrad closed his eyes and Elizabeth felt her heart stumble in her chest.

"You're not saying what I think you're saying," she stated evenly, because he couldn't be saying that. Henry was fine. Henry was on a simple op, and he was coming home. Or maybe he was delayed. Or maybe he was injured, but he was still coming home. He had to.

"Elizabeth, I'm so sorry," Conrad said in that hushed voice that brought Elizabeth right back to her front porch in Virginia, faced with two police officers and her sobbing little brother. Her head spun.

 _No. This couldn't be happening. It just...couldn't be._

"What?" she heard herself ask, unable to form much more than that.

"There was a bombing," he was saying. "Everyone inside is presumed dead."

"Well, then he must not have been-"

"He's gone, Bess," Conrad said, cutting her off. "There were no bodies." She knew what that meant as much as he did. Utter destruction. Nothing left.

Their eyes met across the McCord home office, and it suddenly struck Elizabeth that her husband wasn't coming home. Henry was never going to walk through that door again, and Elizabeth could no longer stand the sight of the man in front of her.

"Please go," she said quietly. Conrad hesitated, but Elizabeth glared at him across the room.

"Go," she repeated, and he nodded.

"Please don't hesitate to call, Elizabeth," he said, and she knew he meant it, but she found that she didn't really care. She couldn't see past the next second, let alone see herself continuing to breathe long enough to call anyone. She watched as the President of the United States let himself out of her house, the door closing behind him with a soft click that rang with finality.

Elizabeth, still standing there with her palms pressed against the edge of her desk, couldn't breathe. For the past three decades, any time that Elizabeth couldn't breathe, she turned to Henry. Henry could calm her down like no one else had ever been able to. Except now, she couldn't turn to Henry. Henry was the reason that she couldn't breathe. No, that wasn't right.

 _Not_ having Henry was the reason that she couldn't breathe.

He was supposed to come home in two days. She'd just spoken with him yesterday, a quick check-in before she'd had to op had been nothing. It had been nothing. She hadn't even been worried when she'd said goodbye to him in their kitchen earlier that week. She had just kissed him like she always did, quickly and easily and like she was going to have a million more opportunities to do so- because she _was_. She was going to have a million more opportunities. Wasn't she?

The words "presumed dead" echoed in Elizabeth's head. She couldn't stop hearing them, spoken into her home office in the grave voice of the man who had been her mentor, and who was now her President. The man who had just become the bearer of the worst news that Elizabeth had ever received. She'd known that something was wrong when Conrad had arrived at the Georgetown home that she shared with Henry- _oh god, Henry_. Still too numb and shocked to cry, though she was sure that would come, Elizabeth looked over at his empty desk. She wondered if he had suffered. The thought made her feel sick. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Her heart physically ached within her chest, and she felt as if it were being torn farther from her body with every second that passed. She felt as if it, too, had been destroyed by a bomb in a far-away country, and was now lying in unrecognizable pieces across the ocean with the pieces of Henry. What was she going to do? How could she ever even move from that spot in her office knowing that she would never hold Henry's hand again, would never feel the way he snuggled against her in his sleep or the tender brush of his fingers through her hair when he thought she was sleeping and didn't know he was there.

How could she even take a single breath knowing that he wasn't coming home?

"Mom?"

 _Oh, Stevie_. How could Elizabeth even look at their children? How was she going to tell them? Something in her, though she didn't know what, propelled her to glance over at her daughter, standing in the doorway of the office, behind Henry's desk. There was worry in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked cautiously. Memories flew through Elizabeth's head; she could see Henry with their oldest child from the day she was born until their quick half-hug in the kitchen the other morning before Henry had headed out. Their last hug.

"Stevie," Elizabeth heard herself say, though it didn't quite sound like her. "I need you to get your brother and sister."

There must have been something in her voice, because Stevie just nodded and turned on her heel and, moments later, all three of her children were there before her and Elizabeth didn't even have the heart or presence of mind to move the whole operation to the living room. She was certain that she couldn't have moved if she had tried, anyway.

"What's wrong?" Alison was asking, voice pitched high with anxiety. Elizabeth didn't look at her. Alison had Henry's smile. Jason had his eyes. Stevie had his mind; she thought just like her dad sometimes, so much so that it had always been very entertaining to Elizabeth. Not now, though.

Now, she couldn't even look at them.

"Is this about Dad?" Jason asked. He was so much more perceptive than they gave him credit for. Henry had said that, before, but Elizabeth couldn't remember when.

"Yes," Elizabeth admitted. She forced herself to look up at them, knowing that she was about to destroy their whole worlds, forever. The gravity of that was not lost on Elizabeth, even though she herself could barely form thoughts. She knew that she was about to alter the rest of their lives irreversibly, and she wondered fleetingly if they were going to hate her for it, later. She already hated herself for it, and she hadn't even done it yet.

"Guys," she breathed, shaking her head slightly. "Dad's not coming home."

There was shocked silence following her words, panic swelling in the room like the crescendo of a particularly tragic piece of music.

"What?" Stevie asked.

"He's dead?" Jason asked, voice hushed and sharp all at once.

"No-" Alison began, but then she looked at her mother and it hit her. He was. Her brother was right; that was exactly what Elizabeth was trying to tell them.

Elizabeth glanced around at all of them. Stevie was pale and still, while Alison had already begun to sob and Jason looked as if he was going to be sick. Tears slowly rose to Elizabeth's eyes as pure, utter despair enveloped the four remaining members of the family she and Henry had built together.

A lifetime of love and hope and tender, beautiful moments, gone. Shattered in an instant. Elizabeth sat there in the silence with her children, wishing that she could wake up and find Henry next to her.

Elizabeth wasn't sure how long she and her children sat there. It could have been minutes or hours, maybe. Time had ceased to exist within her, because how could it be that Henry was gone and the hands on the clock were still turning, one second, minute, and hour at a time, as if everything were normal? Somewhere along the line, she'd ended up on the floor. They all had. The children, Elizabeth realized suddenly, had all fallen asleep.

How had they done that? Alison had cried herself to sleep, Elizabeth was pretty sure. Jason, too, she thought. But Stevie...Stevie hadn't cried. Elizabeth glanced over at her eldest child, curled up on the floor. She was asleep, but she didn't look peaceful. Even in sleep, she looked troubled. Suddenly, as much as she'd wanted to be with them before, Elizabeth couldn't stand to be near them. The walls felt as if they were caving in on her and, in a way, she supposed that they were. The walls of her existence, brick after brick that she and Henry had laid, were crumbling around her. She stood slowly, on shaking legs that she was unsure were fit to carry her anywhere.

And yet, they did. Mindlessly, with no intention of where she was going, Elizabeth moved over her sleeping children and soon found herself upstairs. Later, she wouldn't recall how she had gotten there. She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Her eyes landed on Henry's toothbrush, lying where it had been since the day he had left. Henry kept two toothbrushes: one for home, one for travel. He said that made it easier. Elizabeth thought it was funny.

Or she had, once, a day ago. A day which felt like a lifetime and a moment all at once.

And just like that, with the sight of her husband's toothbrush on the countertop, it had all coming crashing down on her.

Henry was gone. Elizabeth was alone. Her children had no father. She would never get her forever with the only man she'd ever loved. She had lost her husband, her solace, her partner in everything, and her best friend, all in one fell swoop. All in once blast that had torn everything apart. A choked sob tore air from Elizabeth's lungs. She didn't give it willingly; in fact, she had no idea how she was still breathing. She was quite sure that she shouldn't be, because Henry was gone and everything should have just spun to a stop right then and there. She leaned against the closed bathroom door, the weight of her body dragging her down to the floor. She heard herself gasping for air, felt it being pulled from her body and returned, an endless cycle that she wished she had the heart to break.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and her head throbbed, but Elizabeth didn't care. She wrapped her fingers around the necklace that hung delicately against her chest: the chain which contained two little charms, ones that Henry wore too. Charms that had meant something to them, charms she had always pictured she and Henry explaining to their grandchildren someday. Now, she wrapped the delicate chain in her fingers and yanked, the pressure stinging her neck. She sobbed as she threw it across the floor, listening to the charms hit the glass wall of the shower and bounce back to land on the floor before the bathroom was plunged back to silence.

Elizabeth took a shuddering breath; her chest was tight with panic and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing that she could just make it all go away. She couldn't even get her head around the fact that Henry wasn't going to be coming home. Thinking of their kids asleep on the floor of what was now just her office, Elizabeth couldn't breathe. She lowered her head and cried, wondering if she would ever be able to breathe normally again.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for the response to this story, which I lovingly like to refer to as the angst fest. You guys are the best readers a girl could ask for, and I hope you enjoy being tormented by this installment!**

Henry looked around at the tiny, bland apartment that he would be calling home for a while. _No_ , he thought, _staying in for a while_. He wouldn't be calling it home. He couldn't. Home was where things were warm and welcoming. Home was where his kids were bickering over everything under the sun. Home was where he could sit and breathe and think, surrounded by his books and her books and books that their children had brought home. Home was a place filled with the scent of banana pancakes on Sunday morning and the familiar sounds of family. Home was a place where Henry felt safe and secure, a place where he could go at the end of the day and, no matter how much uncertainty was abounding, feel like things were going to be alright. Home, Henry had always thought, was wherever Elizabeth happened to be.

Elizabeth. Henry could barely think of her without feeling sick inside, and yet he could no sooner stop thinking about her than he could will his heart to stop beating inside his chest. The thoughts of Elizabeth and the beating of Henry's heart seemed to have meshed together to form some kind of antagonizing dance. With every steady beat came a wave of nausea at the idea that Elizabeth was across the world, grieving and alone. He had seen firsthand what that grief could do to her; she'd been drowning in it when they had met, and little by little, Henry had pulled her out of it and back to herself. He sighed and sat down in the small desk in the corner, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. He couldn't even imagine what this was doing to her, and to the kids. Stevie had expressed her fear of losing him before; he could envision her worried face and the blue eyes she'd gotten from Elizabeth as clearly as if she were standing before him, and recalled with a painful twisting sensation in his chest how he had hugged her then and reassured her that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He wondered briefly if she would ever be able to trust him again after this. Pushing that unpleasant thought aside as best he could, he thought of Alison, which he found was not any better. Alison had always been sensitive; he remembered how many times he had scooped her up in his arms and promised her that everything was going to be okay, in spite of how it felt just then. Even recently, there had been times when Alison needed him to hold her and tell her that everything was going to work itself out. She was the most tender-hearted of their children, and easily affected by the tragedy of others. Henry couldn't imagine how she must be handling the tragedy of her own family. And then there was Jason. Henry remembered how worried he'd been about having a son, and how in love he'd been from the moment he looked down at the newborn baby boy who looked like him. How he'd promised himself that summer day in the hospital that he was not going to become his own father. He'd looked down at little Jason and promised him that he was going to be different. And he'd spent the intervening years building that relationship, making sure that Jason always knew he was there for him, and that he loved him no matter what. He couldn't help but wonder what this would do to his relationship with his son, when he was able to return home. Would Jason forgive him for leaving? Would this shatter everything he'd spent Jason's entire life trying to build?

Thoughts swirled in Henry's head like some sort of ferocious storm that, when it made landfall, was sure to cause immense destruction. Mind wandering back to Elizabeth, Henry reached for a sheet of paper and a pen, both of which were already on top of the desk. The little apartment was bare-bones. It reminded him of the one he'd stayed in during his early days as a Marine. Elizabeth had come to visit that one, he recalled. She'd taken one look at it and made a face that had made Henry laugh. And by the time she left, somehow the place felt more like home. It was as if she'd left bits of her all around, and it had made Henry feel loved and secure, even long after she had vacated the apartment. That feeling had gotten Henry through his stint in that dreadful little apartment. But there would be no visit from Elizabeth to this place. Henry sighed at that and turned his attention from the dingy walls that may have been painted white at some point and back to the blank sheet of paper. He dated it and then began to write.

 _Dearest Elizabeth,_

 _Every letter I've ever written to you over the three decades that I've loved you has been easy. I've always been able to find the words to give to you when I put pen to paper, but this time I don't even know where to begin. I don't know if there are any words that I can write that would be enough. I can't stop thinking about you, and what you must be going through right now. All I want is to be there with you so that I can make it stop. Losing your parents at such a young age and battling that grief was so much more hurt that I ever would have wished for you, and the idea that now, you have to do it all over again and still somehow be there for the kids- which I know you will- is almost more than I can stand. I want to hold you and tell you that everything is going to be okay. I want to be with you and the kids more than I even have the words to describe. It's physically painful, to be away from you in this tiny little apartment that I hate. I know that what I'm doing here is important, and that you would agree if you knew the whole story. My duty to my country, and the knowledge that you would make the same decision in my shoes, is the only thing keeping me from flying home to you right now. That, and the armed guards that are outside. I might be able to take them, though._

 _I'm not even sure why I'm writing this letter to you. I don't know that you'll ever read these words, so maybe it's more for me than for you. I feel like I'm missing something, some part of myself, and the only thing keeping me sane is the knowledge that I'm coming home to you. You and the kids don't have that, and words do not exist to express how I feel knowing that. Knowing that you and our children are across the world and mourning my death...the idea makes my head spin, and I feel sick thinking about it. I want to come home and hold all of you and make this okay again, but I know I can't. At least, not yet. It's nearly unbearable, and with every breath it hurts a little bit more._

 _I promise I'm going to come home to you, Elizabeth. I know I can't tell you that right now, but maybe if you do read this you'll understand why. I have to believe that you will. And I have to believe that you're going to be okay. That we're going to be okay. You are everything, and I just hope that you're still going to believe that when I come home._

 _It's going to be okay, I promise. I love you, more than all the stars, and I can't wait to come back home to you._

 _All of my love,_

 _Henry_

He folded the letter into thirds and set it aside, tossing the pen down atop the desk with a light clatter. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he took a shuddering breath in a fruitless attempt to calm himself. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, his fingers reaching underneath the fabric of his shirt for his necklace. The two tiny charms hung there as always, and Henry held tight to them, comforted slightly by their familiar weight against his skin. Sometimes, he forgot that the necklace was even there, but not now. Now, he couldn't help but think of it as a link to Elizabeth. That's what the necklaces had serves as when Henry was deployed, and even after he was home, neither of them had been willing to stop wearing them. Elizabeth, these days, changed hers out sometimes, but at the end of her work week or when she could, she always seemed to revert back to these little pendants. Henry never took his off, preferring to hide it under his shirts so that the chain could remain around his neck as a reminder of his enduring promise to return to Elizabeth, to always show up for her, a promise he had made in the early days of their marriage. He'd said that to her before he'd left for basic training, their first time apart since they'd met and fallen in love. He could recall it vividly, the way her fingers had hesitated at the charms around his neck.

" _Be safe, okay?" she had said. She knew it was just basic training; she wasn't sending him off to war, at least not yet. Even so, it hadn't felt right not to say it, and Henry had seemed to understand that._

" _I will," he had assured her._

" _And come back soon," she had added as their eyes met. This was harder for her than she was willing to admit, but Henry knew. They didn't have to talk about it._

" _I will always show up for you," he had told her, hazel eyes serious and warm as they met her ocean blue gaze._

" _I love you," she had said._

" _I love you, too," he told her quietly as he pulled her in close. "More than all the stars."_

They'd signed their letters that way when he had been away. _More than all the stars_. Henry wasn't even sure where it had come from, but it was comforting. At least, it had been, for a long time. Now, Henry was pretty sure that nothing but being home with her could provide comfort. For now, he thought as he released the necklace and the pendants collided again with his chest, he'd just have to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and love on this story, both here and on my tumblr. This chapter is somewhat of a filler, but heartbreaking nonetheless. We're back from visiting Henry and we're spending some time with the other McCords. Let me know what you think. :)**

Elizabeth stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin was pale and her eyes had bags underneath. Makeup could do nothing to touch it, not that Elizabeth had really tried. She barely had the energy and willpower to pull herself from her bed each morning, let alone be bothered with looking nice. Today, though, was her husband's funeral, and as much as she wanted to curl up in a ball with her kids and just skip the whole thing, she knew that she couldn't. Henry wouldn't have minded; in fact, he would have encouraged her wholeheartedly to curl up with the kids and skip it. However, she knew she owed it to his family if nothing else to be there. She'd had to call them with the news, and it had been one of the most heartbreaking parts of the whole process. Though she would have been lying if she had said that any one part of it was not in some way incredibly heart wrenching.

It had been four days. Four days in which Elizabeth had made phone calls and continued to breathe and operated on autopilot. Four days in which she had comforted her children as best she could and caught herself thinking of Henry in present tense. Four days in which she'd been numb and cried and been so incredibly angry, somehow all at the same time. She had never known that it was possible to hurt this much, to feel this isolated and alone. Even when her parents had died, it hadn't been like this. It had been awful, but in its own way. She'd had Will. She'd had the knowledge that she was going to lose her parents someday regardless. Somehow, no matter how heartbreaking and difficult it had been to lose them so early, it had been slightly less so. She never would have thought that, not up until she had lost Henry. Up until four days ago, she would have said that grief was largely the same. That it differed from person to person, but that she would deal with other losses the way she'd dealt with that of her parents. She wished that she'd never had the chance to see how wrong she was.

As Elizabeth reached for a black dress that was hanging in her closet, she glanced over at Henry's clothes, all lined up there on the opposite side from her own. His, and hers. It was as if their adjacent closet space was a symbol of their life. She saw it everywhere. The sinks. The toothbrushes. The shampoo in the shower. The coffee mugs. The desks. The books. The coats in the hall closet. The blankets over the back of the couch.

His, and hers.

It had seemed like such a romantic concept, once. Already, only four days into being just hers again, that seemed like a lifetime ago. It seemed as if a different person had been the one to own all of those things, a person who barely seemed to exist within the shell that she'd become. Elizabeth wondered as she listlessly dressed and did her hair, if that person did in fact still exist. If there would ever be a day when she could breathe the way she used to, or smile the way she used to, or do anything the way that she had when there was a his to the hers. As she met her own blue eyes in the mirror and spun her wedding band absently on her hand, Elizabeth wondered whether she even wanted to.

In another room of the Georgetown home, Stephanie McCord was staring at a wall. She had her dress laid over the back of her chair, ready to put it on to attend her dad's funeral. Yet, she felt rooted to the spot. She felt as if she could never move from the center of her bed, where she was currently sitting with her legs crossed underneath her. Her hair, washed for the first time in four days, was still slightly damp. When she'd first sat down on her bed, it had been dripping. Stevie hadn't noticed that it was drying. In fact, she would have been surprised to learn that she'd been sitting there for longer than a moment. Time, it seemed, no longer held quite the same meaning that it once had. In the past four days, Stevie felt like she'd lived a lifetime. At the same time, she felt as if no time had passed at all. It was odd, she guessed, but she didn't care very much. She didn't really care about anything. She didn't care that she was about to attend her dad's funeral. She didn't care that she could hear her little sister sobbing in the next room over. She didn't care that her brother had thrown most of his possessions against the walls of his bedroom. She supposed that she should. She was pretty certain that she should. But she didn't. She was just numb. She wanted her dad to come home. She wanted him to hug her again and make pancakes in the kitchen and make out with her mom. She wanted all of the same things that her siblings wanted, but she just didn't feel it. With a sigh, Stevie stood from her bed and started to get dressed.

One bedroom over, Alison's face was buried in her pillow. Her chest seemed to have adopted a permanently tight feeling over the last four days, the worst four days of her entire life. She wondered if it would ever go away, but she was almost certain that it wouldn't. She was also pretty certain that she'd cried more in these days than she ever had before in her life. It made her wonder how long she could cry before her body lost the ability. Stevie's certainly seemed like it had, although she hadn't cried even once. At least, not that Alison had seen. Stevie, it appeared, had lost her ability to feel anything and had spend a very large portion of the last four days in total silence. Alison thought that it was possible her sister had spent as much time in silence as she herself had spent crying. Alison had already gotten dressed, but she had spent less time deciding what to wear than she could ever recall doing before. She'd been particular about her clothing for as long as she could remember. As a little girl, Alison had made her Dad help her decide. He would come into her bedroom in the morning and sit on her floor, sometimes with baby Jason in his arms, and watch as she picked out her outfit for the day.

" _Which one, Daddy?"_ she would ask him and Henry would seem to deliberate it very seriously before choosing. It had made Alison feel important, to have made such good outfits that her dad had to think so hard about it. Now, the memory brought a wave of fresh, hot, stinging tears to Alison's eyes and she buried her face in her pillow. She wondered if she would ever be able to care about her outfits again, if she would even be able to stop crying long enough to think about an outfit, let alone design one. Alison thought that perhaps losing her dad was enough to end her own life; it certainly seemed that way just then, as if everything had spun to a stop and there was no chance of the earth ever starting to turn again. At least, not Alison's earth.

In his own bedroom, Jason could hear Alison sobbing, but he did not react to it. He would have liked to say that was because she had been crying non-stop for the past four days, but that would not have been the truth. No, Jason had not reacted to it early on either. Unlike the eldest of the siblings, however, it was not because Jason was numb or unfeeling. In fact, in the wake of his father's death, Jason felt everything more intensely than he ever had before. It was just that Alison's sobbing made Jason want to sob, too, and his mind seemed to have taken pity on the McCords a little bit and decided that only one of their number could be sobbing constantly. Jason, instead of sobbing like Alison, had found himself incredibly angry. He had not taken his clothes for the funeral out of his closet at all; if asked, he would have said it was because he didn't want to go. And he didn't. The last thing that Jason wanted to do was face the death of his father and with it, Jason's own oppressive guilt. He had spent the entirety of the last four days thinking about how much time he had spent antagonizing his dad, all on the basis that he would have plenty of time to redeem himself for his anarchy-fueled bratty behavior as a teenager. He'd felt guilty at times before, but he had consistently brushed it aside and convinced himself that he had years, decades even, to fix all of that. And yet, here they were, and time had run out.

The truth was that Jason was not refusing to get dressed because he didn't want to go, in spite of the fact that he really didn't. No, he was refusing to get dressed mostly because somehow, it seemed that doing that would cement the death of his dad. As if, by dressing himself up in those dark clothes and standing next to his mom and sisters while people attempted to console them, he would be admitting that he was never going to have the chance to fix all the things he'd done in the now seemingly tiny sliver of time he'd had with Henry.

There was a quiet knock at his door and Jason looked up, prepared to tell whichever member of his family had come to the door that he was not going to the funeral. Then, his eyes met Elizabeth's, familiar and blue, now bloodshot and somehow both more and less familiar. And suddenly, Jason felt as if the breath had been squashed from his lungs and he wished that he could just hit rewind and go back to when her gaze was inhabited by the stars that Henry seemed to put there. Jason remembered all the times he had ragged on them for making out in the kitchen or being more handsy than he thought parents should be. Watching the way she looked at him, Jason thought about all the things he would trade now, just to walk down the stairs and find his parents making out like teenagers in the kitchen.

"Jason," Elizabeth said, her voice raw and rough. "You're not dressed." She looked exhausted, as if she might drop to the floor then and there.

"I-" he started to tell her he wasn't going, but something about her stopped him. "I'm about to," he said. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll be ready soon."

There was a certain amount of relief in her nod at him, and then she was gone, and Jason sighed. He'd hoped that reacting to his mother the way his dad would have wanted him to might bring him some comfort. Instead, it just made him angrier.

Later that day, Elizabeth watched her three children stand stoically side by side on the other side of the room. The funeral had brought none of them any comfort, and she couldn't help but remember what she'd told Stevie when Patrick McCord had died.

" _It's not really for Grandpa, baby,"_ she'd said. " _It's for us."_

Her parents' funeral was largely a blur to Elizabeth and at the time, when she had spoken those words to her daughter, she had thought she knew what she was talking about. Now, on the other side of Henry's funeral, she thought herself a hypocrite and wondered just a little bit whether there had been some kind of karmic payback playing a role in the loss of Henry from their lives. She shook her head, pushing that thought away. However, she had already thought it, and thoughts, in their very nature, could never be un-thought. She sighed, wishing that that were a feat she was capable of. She was worried about them, the kids. Jason was throwing things, Alison had taken to sleeping with Elizabeth, and Stevie had not cried a single tear. They were all handling their father's death differently, but none seemed to be handling it well.

Elizabeth wasn't, either.

She looked around, wondering what Henry would do in those moments. And suddenly, she knew. She took a deep breath, wishing that she could have just asked Henry. All she really wanted to do was curl up and sleep, forget the nightmare that she was living. Instead, she headed through a crowd of well wishers clad in black fabric, all of whom were smiling at her sympathetically. She ignored them and approached the kids. They all looked at her as if they hoped she might be able to fix the heartbreak. That, in itself, incited more heartbreak within her, which she'd once thought wouldn't be possibly. She was quickly learning that her capacity for heartbreak was much higher than she would have thought.

"Come on," she said to them. "We're gonna get out of here."

They all stared at her as if she had sprouted a second head, and Elizabeth took a slow breath in the hope that it might steady her a little bit.

"Come on," she encouraged. "Dad wouldn't want us to be here right now."

That seemed to speak to them, and as they silently followed her out of the room and away from the crowd of mourners, Elizabeth wondered if she would ever be able to speak to them without drawing on Henry. Or, in fact, if she would ever want to.


	4. Chapter 4

Russell Jackson walked into the Oval Office, only to find the President drinking. Raising his eyebrows, he looked down at the watch on his wrist to find that it was only just a little after noon.

"Uh, Mr. President?" he intoned, but Conrad Dalton waved him off lazily.

"Not today, Russell," he said, and Russell took a hesitant few steps forward, unsure of exactly what he was getting himself into and not really keen on stepping in the wrong place.

"Why not, sir?" he asked boldly, and when Conrad looked over at him, Russell fought not to take a step back. There was just something there in his gaze that was incredibly unnerving, a deep seated emotional and visceral _something_ that set Russell on edge.

Conrad sighed.

"Sit down, Russell," he said. Russell didn't like how often the President was saying his name. It made him nervous. Nevertheless, he sat, lowering himself slowly into the chair before the President's desk.

"What's going on, sir?" he asked tersely, wishing that Conrad would just go ahead and get to the point.

"I've got to tell you something," he said, and Russell sighed impatiently.

"Then tell me, sir," he ground out in exasperation.

Their eyes met across the desk.

"Henry McCord is not dead."

Ringing, piercing, painful silence filled the room as Russell stared, uncomprehending, at the President.

"What?"

Conrad shook his head gravely, and he began to launch into an explanation about a religious cult and an underground mission that only Henry could accomplish, and Russell was pretty sure that there was something about an abducted CIA operative in there somewhere, but he was only half listening by that point. His brain seemed to be working itself into overdrive, and he was struggling to take in anything that Conrad was saying. All Russell could think about was Elizabeth, and he remembered in those moment with vivid clarity the night he'd gone to the McCord house to see her, one week after Henry's death.

 _Russell wasn't normally nervous, but standing in front of Elizabeth McCord's front door, he realized that he was. That annoyed him; he didn't like the feeling of being so vulnerable. Words from his therapist floated to his consciousness and he pushed them aside. He was there to offer his condolences to Elizabeth; this was far from the time to get wrapped up in his own issues. She came to the door, and when he watched her from across the threshold, Russell had to struggle not to turn and leave. Elizabeth was snarky and tough and she was one of the few people who'd ever been able to match his wit step for step, sometimes even stumping him. He liked that about her, alongside her raw honesty and even the hopeful outlook that she carried, though he would never have admitted that. To see her looking the way she did now, hopeless and exhausted and broken, was not a sight that Russell was comfortable with. Reminding himself that it was undoubtedly so much worse for her, Russell awkwardly offered her the casserole that his wife had sent with him. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the sight of it._

" _A casserole, Russell?" she asked. "You really think I have room for another one of those?"_

 _He shrugged._

" _Not my idea," he assured her. "Mind if I come in?"_

 _She silently stepped aside in acquiescence of his request and he came inside. In spite of her protests, she took the casserole dish out of his hands and headed through the dining room and into the kitchen with it. Russell followed her and when she had crammed it into the already overly full refrigerator, she turned to him, silence settling over them._

" _Are you going to tell me how sorry you are that my husband is dead?" she asked, and Russell shook his head._

" _No," he answered. "I figure you've probably got enough of that."_

 _Elizabeth nodded; Russell figured right. She had heard variations on I'm so sorry for your loss so many times in the last week that she was pretty sure she was going to deck the next person who said it, and she didn't really want that to be the President's chief of staff._

" _Then why are you here?" she asked, and Russell suddenly realized that he didn't really know. He shrugged._

" _To bring you a casserole, I guess," he replied and Elizabeth chuckled mirthlessly._

" _Well clearly I've got enough of those," she responded._

" _My wife insisted," he said._

" _Yeah, I think that was the case with most of these," she said. She glanced over at him, and found that she was actually glad to see him. All she had wanted to do for the last week was curl up and cry, and struggling through conversations with Henry's family and the hoards of people whom her husband had touched in his life had not been easy. Russell, with his brash mannerisms and honesty, was sort of a relief._

" _For the record, Henry was the kind of man this country needed," he said, and she nodded silently._

" _He was," she echoed. The past tense still stung, and she wondered if that would ever go away. She'd been wondering that a lot lately. If any of these new, stinging, awful feelings would ever fade away and let her live her life. Somehow, she couldn't quite get around doubting that._

 _There was silence for a moment._

" _I'm not really sure what I'm going to do, Russell," Elizabeth admitted. She had no idea what was bringing her to open up to Russell Jackson, of all people, except that she knew he wasn't going to try to console her or tell her how to fix it or even really judge her for it. He watched her in silence for a minute._

" _I just never thought I'd find myself here- single mom, three kids, nowhere to turn." She sighed and ran a hand through his hair._

" _Do whatever you think Henry would have wanted you to do," Russell said after a moment. Their eyes met across the space between them, hers glistening with unshed tears, his filled with more compassion than she could recall ever having seen. And then, he nodded at her and turned. Still stunned, she didn't move, and when Russell had let himself out of her house, he paused, leaning against the closed door. He closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself and then carried on, hoping that he'd somehow managed to say the right thing._

Pulling himself back to reality, he stared at the President and fury rose up within him. He stood abruptly from his chair and Conrad's words halted in response.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Russell said, his voice soft enough that it made Conrad nervous.

"Russell-" he began, but the chief of staff shook his head.

"No. You- I went to see her," he said. "I stood in her kitchen, surrounded by casseroles for God's sake while she told me she didn't know what she was going to do. You took the most hopeful human being on the fucking planet and you turned her into a shell. And Henry- you thought it was a good idea to ask the most ethical man in the universe to save someone? As if he could say no!"

"Russell, be reason-" Conrad tried again, but Russell wasn't having it.

"I won't be _reasonable_ ," he sputtered. "Listen, you know I'm all for saving the world and anything else you can accomplish in this office but Henry and Elizabeth McCord? Seriously? You decided that you just had to tear apart the only decent family in all of DC?"

Conrad stared at him. He hadn't realized that Russell had such strong feelings about the McCords, but he supposed that Russell's argument made a lot of sense. In fact, it was quite the reason he was drinking at 12:35 p.m.

"He's going to be back," he said lamely. Russell, who had begun to pace, rounded on him.

"He's going to be back?" he echoed. "When?"

"In five months," Conrad answered. Russell shook his head.

"And what the hell do you plan to do if he doesn't come back? If God forbid he _actually_ dies and then not only do you have to tell her that her husband wasn't dead but that now he is and oh yeah, this time you've got a body for her!" He shook his head in disgust. "No. You have to tell her," he said, but Conrad sighed.

"I can't," he said.

"She's a wreck!" he cried. "You have to."

"I can't. It could jeopardize everything."

Russell thought that was bullshit, but he said nothing, just exhaled forcefully.

"You mentored her," he said, accusation dripping from every word. "You recruited her, you trained her, you brought her to this administration, and then you tore apart her family."

"It was for the greater good," Conrad sighed. "I feel awful about it, but...Henry agreed to it."

"Of course Henry agreed to it! He's more duty bound than she is, if that's even possible!" Russell spat. He pointed an accusing finger at the President.

"You used them," he said. "And even I wouldn't have gone that far."

Silence settled over them, and Conrad wondered if it was possible to feel worse.

"What are we going to do about her?" Russell asked. Conrad stared at him.

"What?" he asked. Russell paced back and forth in agitation.

"You have a responsibility to help her get through the next five months. She's been holed up at home for a month, but if she keeps this up she's going to be even worse off when he gets back than she has to be. You're the one putting her through hell, and now that you've told me I have that responsibility too. You need her in this administration and on top of that I have high hopes that she's going to be President someday," he replied. Conrad nodded slowly; that made sense. Well, as much sense as anything was making just then.

"Who can get her ass back to real life while she's got a dead husband without actually telling her that her husband isn't dead?" Russell asked. It had been rhetorical, but when Russell looked over at Conrad, he looked as if he'd just thought of something.

"What?" Russell asked.

"I know who we need to send to talk to her," he replied, and Russell raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't-" he began, but Conrad shook his head, already reaching for the phone.

"No, I know you meant that rhetorically," he assured a bemused, yet still furious, Russell. "But I know how to solve this. Or at least hold it together."


	5. Chapter 5

" _Jason, come on," Alison groaned as she and her brother descended the stairs. "You can't just-"_

" _I can," he argued._

" _You can't!"_

 _As the two of them bickered, Elizabeth rolled her eyes at Henry, who shot her a quick smile. They'd become quite adept at ignoring the petty arguments of their children in favor of picking their battles. This, they both knew, was not the battle to pick._

" _Dad, when are you going to be back?" Stevie asked as she closed the refrigerator door and glanced at Henry across the kitchen island._

" _Just in a few days," he answered. "Probably Thursday or Friday." Stevie nodded in response and smiled at him as she rounded the island. She hugged him quickly and kissed his cheek._

" _I've got to get going," she said. "Have a safe trip, Dad."_

" _Thanks, sweetheart."_

" _Wait- Stevie, you don't want to ride with me?" Elizabeth asked. Stevie shook her head as she shouldered her bag._

" _No, I'm good," she said, and turned to leave._

" _Oh-okay, bye!" Elizabeth called. Henry chuckled at her slightly desperate attempt to spend time with their eldest._

" _Bye, love you guys!" Stevie called, and then she was gone. Elizabeth sighed._

" _She's impossible to spend time with," she lamented, and Henry laughed._

" _She'll come around, babe," he assured her. "Just be glad she's not a teenager anymore."_

" _Oh, yeah, I second that," Elizabeth replied immediately._

 _Jason and Alison were still bickering at the kitchen table as Henry checked his watch._

" _I better get going, too," he said._

" _Already?" Elizabeth asked, and he smiled at her as he headed over to say goodbye to the other two kids._

" _Are you leaving, Dad?" Alison asked, breaking off her argument with her brother to look up at Henry._

" _Yeah," Henry answered as he leaned over to kiss Alison on the top of her head. She smiled slightly up at him._

" _Have a good trip," she said cheerfully._

" _I will," Henry replied as he hugged Jason, who still looked annoyed._

" _You guys be good, alright?" Henry said. "And stop bickering." He smiled at them and then stepped through the kitchen to the hallway with Elizabeth behind him._

" _Be safe out there, okay?" she said softly. Henry gave her a reassuring smile as he leaned in the kiss her lightly._

" _It's nothing major," he assured her. "I'll be back before you know it."_

 _He hugged her, brushing his lips against hers once more._

" _You won't even have time to miss me," he said, and she rolled her eyes._

" _I miss you already," she said with a smile, and Henry returned it as he slung his backpack over his shoulder._

" _I'll see you in a few days," he replied, and she blew him a kiss. He smiled brightly at her and then he was gone, and she was already thinking about the next thing on her to-do list for the day._

Henry awoke suddenly, instinctively reaching out to touch Elizabeth, as he always did when he needed to ground himself and remind himself where he was, that he was safe and home with her. Except this time, his fingers met cool, empty air. It all came rushing back to him in that moment, the harsh reality of where he was. Across the world from Elizabeth and their children, alone and cold and so distant from her that it made his chest ache. He closed his eyes and tears began to fall as he struggled for breath. His dream had been so vivid, the images of their final morning together as clear to him as if he'd been standing there in the kitchen with his family only moments ago. The fact of the matter, however, was that he hadn't been. In fact, it had been just over a month since he'd stood in the kitchen that morning, saying goodbye to them and thinking that he would be coming home in just a few days. Merely an hour after he'd hugged his wife and told her that she wouldn't even have time to miss him, Henry had been on a plane that was taking him away from his family, a plane that he'd not wanted to step foot on, but had.

Now, Henry sat on the edge of his small bed and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he ran his fingers through his hair and tried to calm himself. He'd done the right thing, which is what he'd been repeating over and over in his head for the past month. He'd done the right thing; in fact, he'd done the only thing he could do. Hadn't he?

It was torture for Henry, playing it all over in his mind. He could still see the President's grave face and hear him telling Henry that he was the only person who could do this. That he alone could save those people, that without him the whole thing would likely fall apart.

"I promise I'll get you back to Elizabeth," he had said, and Henry had nodded. He'd agreed to it, knowing that he would be able to come back home to her and to the kids, but then as he had sat on the plane and watched the world fall away from him, he'd felt as if he was leaving his heart behind as well. He'd already begun to play the morning over in his mind, running through every detail.

Had he told each of his children that he loved them? Had he been too harsh with any of them? Had he been affectionate with Elizabeth?

And then the doubt had begun to set in, the second-guessing of each and every action.

Why didn't I take the time to make those quick hugs longer? Why did I just kiss Ali's head instead of giving her a proper goodbye? Why didn't I really kiss Elizabeth, or hold her for a moment? Why had it all passed by so quickly?

He couldn't stop asking himself any of the questions that raced through his active mind, and by the time he landed across the world from them, knowing that within days they would think he was dead, Henry bitterly regretted not slowing it all down that morning. He wished he could go back, just for a moment, to hold elizabeth and make sure that she and the kids all knew how much they meant to him. Even more than that, he wished he could just go back and not leave the house at all. He wanted nothing more than to still be curled up with Elizabeth in their bed instead of here, in this small, cold, empty one.

And yet he was doing the right thing. Wasn't he?

Sighing, Henry got up. There was certainly no point in trying to sleep now. His mind was racing, just as it had every day since he'd left home, and as he was certain it would every day until he returned to Elizabeth and the kids. So, he did what he'd been doing every time it all became too much for him; he sat down and began writing to Elizabeth.

 _Dearest Elizabeth,_

 _It's four-thirty in the morning here and I can't sleep. It was never easy sleeping without you, at least not once we'd done it once. Remember that? The first night we slept together- I mean, actually slept together. You'd decided it was a good idea to spend that whole day hiking, and after we'd gotten lost on the trails and wandered around for hours trying to get home, it was dark and we were both exhausted. We were both asleep by nine o' clock, and I remember waking up early the next morning with you all curled up against me and thinking that life couldn't possibly get any better than that._

 _It's all those mornings that I think about now, all the times when I knew I was waking up next to you. I wonder if maybe I took that for granted sometimes, if maybe I could have loved you more fiercely and treasured you more than I did. Not that I didn't love and treasure you; there hasn't been a moment since I met you that I didn't. But that maybe I could have articulated it more, or show you differently, or done any number of things that could serve as some comfort to you now, when you must be struggling so much. I wonder a lot about what you do fall back on, in this strange and difficult time. What memories are you holding close and which ones are too painful to think on? Who are you talking to? Are you talking to anyone?_

 _And I wonder, reluctantly, what I'm coming home to. How much damage I've managed to leave in the wake of my crusade. I still believe I've done the right thing coming here, but leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done and I can't help but wonder whether you'll resent me for it. I like to believe that you won't, that you will understand why I had to do this. But the truth is that I'm just not sure. I'm not sure what life is going to be like when I get home, and I suppose the thought that keeps me up the most is...what if I don't get to spend those nights side-by-side again? What if this is just too much for us? It's as hard for me to think about as it is for me not to. I just keep running that last morning over in my head, and in my dreams, wishing that I could hold you for a moment longer or say I love you one more time._

 _I wish that I could be there with you. I love you, Elizabeth, more than all the stars._

 _Henry_

The letter joined the growing pile in Henry's desk drawer and Henry himself sighed as he stood to start the day.


	6. Chapter 6

Isabelle stood before Elizabeth's security detail, who were watching her carefully, and sighed. She was moments away from seeing Elizabeth for the first time in a while, not by any fault of either of them, and she found that she was a little nervous. She hated that, that nervous feeling. It made her feel weak, and that was something that Isabelle tried to avoid if at all possible. She'd intended to attend Henry's funeral, but had been out of the country on assignment at the time herself. Now, she reflected back on the call she'd gotten from the President about a month later.

" _Hello?"_

" _Isabelle? It's Conrad."_

 _Isabelle froze, hesitating in what she was doing at the sound of his voice._

" _Uh, Mr. President," she intoned. "What can I do for you?"_

" _No," he'd begun, "not Mr. President. At least, not right now."_

 _He sounded weary, and Isabelle had known before he ever got to the point that this call was going to be about Elizabeth._

" _Okay," she said._

" _I need to ask you a favor, as a friend," he said._

" _What is it?"_

" _I need you to go and see Elizabeth," he replied, and Isabelle sighed. She had known it was coming._

" _I'm not sure that's such a good idea," she said cautiously. "I'm not exactly known for my tact."_

" _Oh, I think it's a very good idea," Conrad answered, and Isabelle knew that this wasn't a battle she was going to be winning. "I think Elizabeth might appreciate your lack of tact, actually."_

" _So you want me to...what, convince her to go back to work?" she asked._

" _If you think that's what's good for her," Conrad replied evasively. "Just check on her and be there for her, alright?"_

And that had brought her here, to Elizabeth's Georgetown home. She recalled the last time she'd been there, joking around with Elizabeth and Henry in their home office. It seemed like another universe now, knowing that Henry was gone and Elizabeth was on her own. Isabelle had never known Elizabeth without Henry. Even before she'd met the man in question, his influence on Elizabeth's life had been present and obvious. She'd always lit up when she talked about him. Isabelle could recall being a little envious of what they seemed to have, and now even the memory of that was heart wrenching. She looked up at the door, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and headed up the stairs.

Inside, Elizabeth was sitting at her desk. She wasn't quite sure why she was sitting at her desk, given that she hadn't worked since Henry's death and wasn't sure what to do with herself most of the time. Still, she found herself that evening at the desk, and so when the sound of a knock on the door shattered the silence of the house, Elizabeth jumped. She was almost immediately transported back to the night news of Henry's death had reached her. In fact, she was pretty sure that was the last time she'd sat at her desk. Shaking her head in an attempt to rid it of the idea that somehow, more bad news was waiting outside her door, Elizabeth stood and approached, pulling it open.

"Ma'am, we have Isabelle Barnes for you," said her security detail. Elizabeth stared at him.

"What?"

"Hey, Bess."

Elizabeth looked past her detail at Isabelle, standing on the bottom step in front of her house. She sighed at the sight of her friend, images of all those spy dinners flashing through her head.

"Come in," she said, stepping aside as Isabelle ascended the steps with a nod to the DS Agents and crossed the threshold into the house.

"How are you?" Elizabeth asked, but Isabelle just wrapped her arms around Elizabeth as one of the Agents stepped up to discreetly close the front door again. Elizabeth, though tense at first, hugged Isabelle back and swallowed hard against the lump that rose up in her throat.

"Elizabeth, I'm so sorry," she said. Elizabeth just nodded wordlessly as the two women pulled apart and looked at one another there in the entryway.

"It's good to see you," Elizabeth said.

"I wanted to be here for the funeral," Isabelle began, but Elizabeth waved her off.

"I assumed you were out of the country," she said as she wandered into the living room with Isabelle following.

"I was," she confirmed. Elizabeth managed a small smile in Isabelle's direction as they sat down opposite each other on Elizabeth's couch. Looking around, Isabelle noted that everything was much the same as it had been the last time she had visited. There was, however, something notably different. Isabelle wondered if the place just felt different to her because she knew that Henry no longer inhabited it, but she wasn't sure. It felt somehow emptier, lacking in some key energy that had made it what it was before and no longer had the ability to be. It was incredibly unnerving, the feeling that the absence of one person could shift the whole atmosphere so completely.

She glanced over at Elizabeth, finding her sitting with one knee pulled up against her chest and the other resting on the couch. There was something undeniably different about her as well, and that, Isabelle found, was even more unsettling. Elizabeth had always carried a certain ferocity about her, and while it was still there, it was somewhat diminished. Isabelle had never imagined Elizabeth like this, and to see it laid out in front of her was almost painful.

"How are the kids?" Isabelle asked. Elizabeth sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"In various states of disarray," she replied. "Stevie is all but mute, Alison has been crying pretty much nonstop for the last month, and Jason...well, Jason is just angry. Really angry, all the time."

She sounded exhausted, and Isabelle bit her lip. She knew that part of why Conrad had sent her there was that he knew Isabelle wouldn't beat around the bush, because she never did. But even Isabelle was unsure of how to approach this. Betrayal and underhanded backstabbing, Isabelle could handle. She was trained for that. This? Not so much. Yet, she was reminded forcefully that Elizabeth wasn't trained for this either, and it affected her life marginally more than it did Isabelle's.

"And you?" she asked, and Elizabeth laughed mirthlessly.

"Oh, god, Isabelle, I've never felt more stranded and alone in my entire life," she said. "And miserable. I- I don't know what to do with myself. I just sit here and I wonder how I'm going to do the next minute without Henry, let alone the next day or week or month or...decade." She scoffed, shaking her head. "It's been over a month and I still can't get my head around it. I keep expecting him to show up again, you know? Just...walk through the door."

She sighed and Isabelle hesitated.

"Have you thought about going back to work?" she asked, and Elizabeth stared at her.

"Seriously?" she asked, and Isabelle shrugged.

"Listen, Bess, you know I'm sympathetic and you know how much I adored Henry," she began, "but I know you. You have never done well with stillness. I'm not pushing. I'm just wondering if it's possible that you might be better off moving forward a little bit."

"Moving forward?" Elizabeth echoed softly. The ghost of a sad smile appeared on her face.

"Isabelle," she began, "I don't think moving forward is even possible."

"Okay, Elizabeth," she said. "I know you miss him. I know it seems impossible to do anything, and while I don't pretend to know what you're going through, I do know that you're a mother first. You always have been. And while I also don't pretend to be an expert on kids, I can't help but think that it might be helpful for them to see you getting back to some approximation of normalcy."

Elizabeth thought about that. She always could count on Isabelle to be honest with her, if nothing else. She supposed on some level, she found it comforting to see that that, at least, hadn't changed.

"Thought you weren't pushing," she remarked quietly and Isabelle smiled slightly.

"I'm not," she answered, and when Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Okay," she relented, "maybe I am a little bit. But only because I care."

Elizabeth smiled at her.

"Conrad sent you here, didn't he?" she asked, and Isabelle laughed.

"Well, I can see your perceptive nature has not been dimmed," she remarked drily.

"Yes," Isabelle relented. "He did. But I wouldn't have come if I didn't think he had a point."

That, Elizabeth was sure was true. Isabelle had never been the type to let herself get pushed around or intimidated into doing something that she didn't believe in. Not even by the President of the United States.

"Look, just think about it, okay?" Isabelle said. She smiled sadly. "I can't imagine Henry would want you to wallow."

While Elizabeth thought that was probably true as well, she couldn't help but feel a little angry at the thought.

"Well," she sighed as she stood from the couch with a sad glance back at Isabelle, "we don't really know what Henry would have wanted, do we?"

Isabelle bowed her head at that, and Elizabeth blinked back tears.

"Coffee?" she offered, and Isabelle just nodded, standing to follow Elizabeth into the kitchen and wondering if anything would ever be the same again.


	7. Chapter 7

Elizabeth looked around at her children, all three of them gathered around her at the kitchen table.

"What's this about, Mom?" Jason asked. It was impossible not to notice the hardened tone of his voice.

"It's a family meeting," Elizabeth said evenly.

"No it's not," said Stevie suddenly. They all looked at her in surprise, having gotten so used to her being quiet all the time.

"What?" Elizabeth asked.

"It's not a family meeting," Stevie said. "Because this-" she gestured around at all of them gathered there and the notably empty chair at the head of the table, "is not my family. At least, not all of it. So this cannot be a family meeting." Her voice was hollow where Jason's was intense. Elizabeth took a deep breath. Truthfully, she felt the same way. She didn't feel like their family was complete any more than Stevie did, but it was her job to hold them all together. What had been a responsibility that she and Henry shared was now hers to shoulder in addition to her own grief. She'd been thinking a lot about Isabelle's point over the two weeks since her visit, and she'd decided that her friend was probably right. Going back to work would give her something to focus on, if nothing else. Sure, there would be the early days filled with pity and sympathy, but she thought that once she got past that, things would be okay. As okay as they could be, anyway.

"Stevie, I know you miss Dad. Believe me, I get it," she said. "I miss him, too, and you're right. This doesn't feel like a family without him." She swallowed hard. "But...the fact is that this is our life right here, right now. We can't keep pretending that isn't true." She looked around at all of them, each of her children with their pieces of their father and their pieces of her and the pieces that were all them. Each of them struggling in their own ways, a mirror to her own unique and individual grief.

"This is where we are," she continued, "and I know it's hard but we are a family. Even if we don't feel like it right now, we are. And we're going to be, not only now or tomorrow or next week but forever. And Dad's a part of it too, even if he isn't here. So...this is a family meeting."

"What's it about?" Alison asked quietly. Elizabeth found herself grateful that at least one of her children seemed to be willing to hear her out. Stevie was sitting with her arms over her chest and there was something that bordered on frightening in Jason's eyes.

"It's about me going back to work," she said. Silence followed that. Stevie unfolded her arms in favor of leaning forward over the table, while Jason continued to stare impassively and Alison sighed.

"You're going back to work?" Stevie asked in a careful and measured tone of voice.

"Well, that's what we're here to talk about," Elizabeth replied. "I think so, but I haven't fully decided yet and I wanted to get your opinions."

There was silence as the three of them looked at one another and Elizabeth just watched them.

"Are you trying to forget him?" Jason asked, his tone biting and harsh.

"No, Jace, of course not," Elizabeth replied. "I would never want to forget your dad, let alone be able to. He was the love of my life and my best friend. Forgetting him would be impossible."

"Then why go back?" Stevie asked. Elizabeth sighed.

"I just think it might be good for everyone to get back to normal, as best we can," she answered.

"How can that even be possible?" Alison asked. "It's been six weeks and I still can barely stop crying."

"I know, Noodle," Elizabeth said. "It's been hard for all of us, and it's still going to be hard, but...I just can't imagine that Dad would have wanted us to let our lives come to a total stop, not forever."

When Isabelle had made the same point, Elizabeth had come back with the idea that they couldn't really tell what Henry would have wanted. However, when she'd given that some more extensive thought, it had occurred to her that maybe Isabelle was right. Elizabeth really couldn't imagine how Henry would have wanted them to be unhappy. She had found herself thinking a lot about those fleeting conversations she and Henry had forced themselves through; conversations about what they would do anything were to happen to the other. Henry had expressly told her that he wouldn't want her to wallow, and she'd spent quite a while thinking on that one. What even qualified as wallowing? Could she justify staying home and not returning to work and still feel that she was honoring what her husband would have wanted for her? It had been a lengthy internal battle, but eventually it had brought her here, to this family meeting with the kids. She'd come to the conclusion that if she knew anything about what Henry would have wanted, she knew that he would have wanted it to be a family decision.

"Do you really think you should go back?" Alison asked in a small voice.

"Yeah, baby, I do," Elizabeth replied gently. "Life without Dad is different and difficult, but I do think it's going to be good for all of us if we try to find a new normal."

"I mean, Jason is in school," Alison pointed out, looking almost desperately at her older sister and younger brother. It looked as if she wanted to agree with her mother, but was reluctant to do so without the support of at least one of her siblings.

"Yeah, but if she goes back to work she won't have time for us," Jason said. "We've already lost one parent."

"It won't be like that, Jason," Elizabeth said. "I'm aware that this is a single-parent family now." the phrase made her feel sick, but she pushed on. "That's going to take some getting used to, and if I do go back to work my hours will be different. I'd work from home more, take fewer trips. We'll make it work. I don't want you to feel like you wouldn't have me around."

They all seemed to think about that.

"I vote yes," Alison said, taking a bolder stand than Elizabeth would have expected from her normally shy middle child. Her siblings looked at her and she met their gazes.

"Team McCord," she said by way of explanation. Stevie nodded silently, meeting Elizabeth's eyes in acquiescence.

"Jace?" Elizabeth prompted. He shrugged.

"I guess."

Elizabeth nodded.

"Okay," she said. "Listen, guys, it's going to be alright."

"Is it?" Stevie asked, and with that she stood and walked away, followed by Jason. Alison paused and leaned over to hug Elizabeth before she followed her siblings upstairs, leaving their mother alone in the kitchen again. The meeting could have gone much worse, she thought, but it certainly hadn't been a breeze. Now, sitting alone in the kitchen, Elizabeth sighed and leaned back in her chair. If you asked her, this was among the worst parts of having lost Henry. When the kids ascended to their bedrooms, instead of being left with gentle banter and warm, affection, Elizabeth found herself alone in the silent lower level, with no one to talk to. Sighing, she stood and headed upstairs.

It had been a solid two months by the time Elizabeth quietly took the place of Secretary of State again. She'd never imagined that she would be able to even leave her bedroom, let alone find herself here, riding the elevator to the seventh floor again. She even found herself hoping that Blake would bring her a pastry, and as she fiddled with the ties of her blouse, she wondered if any of this meant that she was moving on. She also wondered how she felt about that, but as the elevator slid to a stop, she determinedly pushed such thoughts out of her mind and told herself to focus. The doors slid open and Blake stood before her. He looked incredibly nervous, and Elizabeth found that endearing, though not so endearing as the bear claw and coffee that he was holding.

"Good morning, ma'am," he said, just a little too quickly, as he awkwardly held them out to her. Elizabeth chuckled. It seemed that she wasn't the only one out of practice with this whole routine.

"Good morning, Blake," she replied kindly. "Bear claw, thank you."

"You're welcome," he said as he took her coat, switching it for the coffee and pastry as they walked.

Elizabeth glanced around.

"Where is everyone?" she asked cautiously. "I sort of expected a more intense ambush."

"I asked them not to," Blake admitted with a glance in her direction. "I hope that's okay, I just didn't want to overwhelm you." She smiled at him.

"Thank you, Blake," she said. "But I'm okay," she added. "Well, not entirely okay. But okay enough." He nodded at that and, as they passed by Blake's desk and arrived where the others were not so patiently waiting, Elizabeth steeled herself. This was the part that she'd been least looking forward to. However, as she entered the room and everyone remained in their seats, some of them not even looking at her, she smiled slightly to herself. Blake, she surmised, had asked more of them than just their absence at the elevator doors.

"Good morning, everyone," she said, and received a chorus of 'good morning' back as she sat down.

The meeting commenced as if Elizabeth had never left, and she found herself incredibly grateful for her assistant, who sat quietly at the small desk in the corner of the room. When the meeting ended and everyone stood to go their separate ways, Jay shot her a smile and Elizabeth turned to Blake on her way into her office.

"Hey, can you come in here for a minute?" she asked. He nodded and followed her. In the office, she leaned against her desk and looked at him.

"Something I can do for you?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"No, I just wanted to thank you," she replied.

"For what?"

Elizabeth smiled.

"For whatever you said to them," she replied, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the room from which they'd just come. "I'm sure it wasn't easy, getting them to act so normal. I really appreciate it, Blake."

Blake looked at her for a moment, as if weighing his options.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said finally, and Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh a little bit.

"Alright," she said. "I'm just going to reacquaint myself, come and get me if you need me," she added as she rounded the desk, an action that was at once familiar and foreign.

Blake paused at the doorway to the office and glanced back, his dark eyes meeting her gaze across the room.

"Welcome back, Madam Secretary."

And then he was gone, and Elizabeth was alone in her office. She sank into the chair and looked around. She exhaled and thought about the last time she'd been here; she had been a completely different person then, walking out the door with the intention of going home to spend time with the kids and thinking she would be coming back the next day as she always did. She hadn't though, and now she was a different version of the Elizabeth she'd been then. She was a widow now, a word she'd never wanted to use to describe herself and certainly hadn't expected to be using so soon. She looked over her shoulder at the framed photos behind the desk; everything was just as she'd left it, and she wondered how they'd managed that, especially not knowing for sure if she was ever coming back. Her eyes raked over the images of her family, including those of Henry, and she had to fight back tears. Her heart ached not only for Henry, but for the woman she'd been two months ago. For the life she'd lived then. For the woman in the photographs, who had everything she'd ever wanted. She had taken it for granted at times, she had to admit, and now she found herself wondering more and more often about karma and the way the world worked and even sometimes God, whatever God was. Or wasn't. She didn't know.

She reached for one of the photos, one of Henry with the kids, and flipped it face-down on the desk. Immediately, she felt an unpleasant twisting in her chest, and Jason's harsh voice filled her memory with the words _Are you trying to forget him?_ Quickly, she turned the photo back up the way it was supposed to be, and with one final glance, turned her back to them and willed herself to make it through this first day.


	8. Chapter 8

"Jason, please put your phone away," Elizabeth sighed as she watched her youngest across the table. Jason sighed, but didn't make any moves to obey her request. She sighed, too, while Stevie and Alison watched warily. It had been nearly three months since Henry's death, and the girls were coping a little bit. Alison had returned to classes on a limited basis, taking a couple of basic classes online. She couldn't stomach the idea of taking design classes, but Elizabeth assured her that it was alright to take it slowly. Stevie was still quieter than she'd ever been before, but she was back in her internship with Russell Jackson, and she'd told Elizabeth that he was being almost painfully kind to her. There had been a time when such news would have been unnerving to Elizabeth, but now she didn't really have the energy to care what Russell's pity for them was inspiring in him. It took everything she had just to get up every day and go to work, to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Truthfully, it was the last thing she wanted to be doing. She'd have been fairly content to sit at home and stare at a wall all day, but she knew that she couldn't. Henry wouldn't have wanted that for her, and she had the kids to look after. They needed her now more than ever. Jason, unlike his sisters, did not seem to be learning to cope with the loss at all. In fact, he just seemed to become more and more angry with every passing day. His presence in the house was marked by slamming doors and careless tossing of his possessions, and he refused to talk to her about it.

"Jason, come on," she begged. "We need to talk about what happened at school today."

That was the whole reason she was trying now; she'd gotten a call at her office to come and get Jason, who was being suspended for getting into a fistfight with another student. When she'd arrived to get him, he'd silently ridden home next to her, knuckles bruised and tears in his eyes, which he tried to hide.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you can't go around hitting people, Jace!" she said. Her son scoffed.

"Well, I did," he snapped. "And they deserved it."

"Okay, why?" she asked, latching on to the sliver of information in hopes that she would be able to understand why he'd done what he'd done.

"Because they were talking about Dad, okay?" he snapped, finally looking up at her. He tossed his cell phone on the tabletop with a clatter and she couldn't help but wilt a little bit under the intensity of his gaze, so like his father in the way he was looking at her just then. He seemed to burn with furious passion, the way Henry had when he was defending her or talking about something that got him particularly fired up.

"They were talking about Dad," he continued. "They're always talking about Dad. Everywhere I go, people talk about him. They whisper about how awful it is as if I don't know how awful it is. And I try to drown them out and I slam doors and I throw things but nothing works." Tears had begun to stream down Jason's cheeks and Elizabeth glanced down to find his hands trembling. "Everyone just keeps talking about it! Every time they see me! Nobody knows how to talk to me anymore and it's like I don't even exist. No matter how much noise I make, I still hear them talking, always about me and never to me. And here it's even worse!"

He took a shuddering breath as his mother and sisters stared at him. His eyes flashed around at them all.

"You're always crying or sulking or working and staring off into the distance and it's so damn quiet in here all the time and it's everything that Dad wasn't and I hate it. I hate it here, and I hate myself! I hate that I was harsh with him while you guys all adored him. I hate that he knew you loved him!"

Elizabeth stood up at that, and Jason crumbled against her, his whole body shaking with the force of his sobbing.

"Oh, Jason," she breathed. She held him tightly as he cried, and hopelessness washed over her. She was doing okay most days, but this felt like day one all over again. Holding her son as he cried until his sobs were heart wrenchingly silent, his words playing over and over in her head, Elizabeth felt as if she could never take another step forward. Time should stop right then, she thought. She could just give up and give in; she could fall apart too, and let herself fall to the floor. And maybe she'd never stop falling. Maybe she could just disappear and not have to deal with the pain anymore. Not have to feel the heartbreak. Not have to see Jason cry like this and struggle to breathe.

"Breathe, honey," she reminded him. "Just breathe."

"I don't want to breathe!" Jason sobbed.

"I know," Elizabeth said "I know. Trust me, Jace, I know. I get it. But you've got to. We all do."

She ran her hand over the back of his head, hoping to be soothing even though she herself felt as if she could never breathe normally or be soothed again. Her heart was aching for Henry in that moment even more than every moment of the past three months, for the way he could calm her down and diffuse any situation with the kids, his calm mannerisms and the gentle way with which he approached them. She closed her eyes and just let the tears fall.

Three days later, Elizabeth picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she landed on a familiar name. She tapped it, and it lit up her screen. Holding the phone to her ear, she waited for the duration of one, two, three rings before there was a small click and a familiar voice met her ears.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Will," Elizabeth replied. She sounded weary even to herself, and it wasn't lost on her brother, who knew her nearly as well as Henry had.

"Lizzie," he said. "You sound terrible." She couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"I feel terrible," she replied.

"How are the kids holding up?" he asked, and there was a softness to his voice that she appreciated.

"That's sort of why I'm calling, actually," Elizabeth replied as she leaned back in her desk chair, looking over at Henry's untouched desk across from her own. "Stevie and Alison are struggling, but managing for the most part. I'm calling about Jason." Will sighed. He could imagine where this was going, but Elizabeth elaborated anyway.

"He's just so angry, Will. He's suspended from school for getting into a fistfight, and when I asked him about it...he said it was because they were talking about Henry. Because everyone is always talking about Henry." She swallowed hard at the memory. "He fell apart, and I didn't know what to say or what to do. I know he needs Henry, but obviously he can't have Henry and I just…"

"I'll come and talk to him," Will said immediately. "I'm not his dad, but I've been where he is. Maybe I can help."

Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief. If anyone might be able to get through to Jason, she thought it was probably Will.

"I really appreciate it," she said quietly.

"It's nothing," he assured her, and when they hung up a few moments later, Elizabeth leaned back, exhaling forcefully as she spun her wedding band on her finger. She could only hope that her brother might be able to get through to Jason; if he couldn't, she didn't have a clue what the next step might be.

Will Adams stepped into his sister's Georgetown house and immediately felt the shift. It felt empty, somehow, and he was reminded of the way his parents' house had felt after their deaths. As if the place was too big and too much and too small all at once. Cavernous, and closing in on him.

"Hey, sis," he said as he opened his arms to Elizabeth. She accepted his hug and when he pulled back, he studied her. She looked exhausted, and he was reminded of the way she'd been all those years before. Withdrawn, weary, broken.

"How are you?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Getting by," she answered. "Thanks for doing this."

"No, it's my...well, not pleasure, but something like that," he answered. She cracked a small smile and gestured him up the stairs. Will took a deep breath that didn't escape his sister's notice and then then he started up the stairs to speak to his nephew.

Upstairs, he knocked on Jason's door and heard a rustle inside. When Jason opened the door, he stared at his uncle in surprise.

"Uncle Will," he said. "What are you doing here?" Just then, it seemed to hit him and Jason sighed. Will could almost see his walls going back up right before his eyes.

"Mom asked you to talk to me, huh?" he surmised. Will shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"She's worried about you," he said by way of explanation, a hidden plea to Jason to be understanding. The teenager shrugged his shoulders, but stepped aside and Will walked into his bedroom. A glance around found every framed photo was turned down, the faces inside unable to see anything but the surface of whatever their frames were resting on. The pieces of a model plane were resting on Jason's desk, half-assembled, and when he saw Will looking at it, he flushed red with embarrassment. He sat in his desk chair, turning it so that he could block the plane from view.

"So I heard you got suspended," Will said.

"And I guess you're here to lecture me?" Jason guessed. Will laughed, shaking his head as he sank down on Jason's bed.

"Not at all," he assured his nephew, who looked suitable surprised and skeptical. "I would have done the same thing. Well," he amended, "I should say I did do the same thing."

"What?" Jason asked, and Will nodded.

"I was angry, too," he said. "When my parents died, and your mom was so withdrawn that I felt like I didn't know her, and I felt like I didn't know myself. I felt alone, and I felt guilty, and I was so infuriated by everything. And one day I just snapped." He shrugged, leaned his head back, and reflected on that day under the careful gaze of his sister's son. "I heard them talking about how sad it must have been and that was it. I just couldn't take it anymore."

"And what happened?" Jason asked.

"What do you think happened?" Will laughed. "I got suspended, just like you."

"Why are you telling me this?" Jason sighed, and Will fixed his gaze on him. Jason was reminded of Elizabeth then; she and Will had that same Adams look, one that made Jason feel as if they were seeing through him.

"Because you're not me," Will replied. "Because you don't have to stay angry for years like I did. You don't have to push your sisters away- or your mom, for that matter."

"This isn't about them," Jason said.

"Exactly," Will agreed immediately. "But to them, it seems like it is. It's not about them,it's about you and your dad. But you're taking it out on them."

Jason sighed; his uncle was right, and he knew it. He looked up, meeting Will's eyes.

"I was awful to him," Jason admitted. "How am I supposed to go on knowing that?"

Will shook his head.

"You've got to trust," Will said.

"Trust what? Trust who?" Jason scoffed, sounding frustrated.

"Trust me. Trust your mom. Trust your dad," Will answered.

"Trust my dad?" Jason repeated, and Will nodded his head.

"Trust him about what?" he asked.

"How often did your dad tell you that he loved you?" Will asked.

"Every day," Jason said softly. He'd missed that most of all in the last three months, those casual calls of I love you that often went unanswered in Jason's ignorant haste.

"You believe him?" Will asked.

"What kind of a question is that?" Jason snapped. Will didn't flinch.

"You believe him?" he asked again, measured and even.

"Yes," Jason sighed.

"You think he loved you any less because you were a jerk to him?" Will asked, and Jason hesitated. Truthfully, he'd been asking himself that question over and over again for the last three months.

"The answer is no, Jason," Will said after a moment of silence.

"How do you know?" Jason inquired immediately, looking almost desperately in Will's direction. Will smiled slightly, a little sadly.

"Because I knew him, too. That's where that trust thing comes in. Listen to what I'm saying," he implored. Jason swallowed hard. "He loved you, and he knew that you loved him. You didn't have to say it; you were enough for him, and you may not believe that right now, but it's the truth. You can take that for what it's worth, but the fact of the matter is that this is your family now. Your mom, she's struggling too. And your sisters...you're younger than them, so you probably think they're not counting on you, but they are." Will remembered holding his sobbing big sister in the middle of the night three days after their parents had died and feeling like his whole world had been turned on its end.

"Be there for them. Be angry, but not with them. And when you feel it starting to fade, which you will eventually, let it go. Don't try to hold onto that anger like it's some sort of line to your dad, because it isn't. That's all you, bud."

Jason nodded silently and glanced back at the plane on his desk.

"And finish that. It'll help," Will added softly, nodding at the plane as he stood and hugged his nephew, who clung to him just a little bit.

"Does it ever get easier?" Jason asked, voice breaking against Will's shoulder.

"Yes," Will replied. "Eventually."


	9. Chapter 9

Henry looked up at the calendar, marking off yesterday's date with a shaking hand. The day's date seemed to stare at him from the page, taunting him endlessly with its glaring blankness. October third. It was the day that had changed his life, more than twenty years ago. It had been unseasonably cool, clear, and beautiful that afternoon. He and Elizabeth had agreed; it was the perfect autumn day to welcome their first child. And little Stephanie McCord had made her appearance, revolutionizing the lives of her parents, who were so in love with her that it hurt from the moment she took her first breath. Now, Henry sat at his desk across the world and his heart ached at the knowledge that he couldn't be with her on that day. He sighed, reaching for a clean sheet of paper and a pen. He dated it in the corner as he had his letters to Elizabeth, and then began to write.

 _Dearest Stephanie,_

 _Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I can't even begin to tell you how desperately I wish I could be with you today. The day you were born was life-altering in the best way, for your mom and I both. You were so tiny and precious and you looked just like your mom from the moment you were born. The first time I ever held you in my arms I was certain my heart was going to burst with the love that it held for you. You looked up at me with those beautiful eyes and I knew that my life was infinitely better then than it had been just moments before. You were the person that made me a dad, and I can't imagine a better human being to have experienced all of those firsts with. You navigated it all alongside me, and I would never trade a single second of it. You've grown into such an impressive, stunning, intelligent, and wonderful person. I could not be more proud to call you my daughter._

 _I'm so sorry that I can't be with you now. I know this must be impossibly hard for you, your siblings, and your mom, but today I'm thinking especially of you. I wish that I could be there to make you pancakes and give you the gift that Mom and I got for you early this year. I wish I could be there for your birthday dinner and give you the biggest hug and tell you happy birthday. It kills me, knowing that I'm missing this day. Truthfully, it kills me to know that I'm missing any day._

 _I hope you'll understand why I had to do what I've done. I want to be with you guys so much that my heart aches. I promise I'll be home soon. I promise I'll be there for your birthday next year. I promise. I love you so much more than I can ever tell you._

 _Always and forever,_

 _Dad_

Henry swiped impatiently at the tears on his cheeks, but one managed to escape his touch and fell to the paper, the liquid spreading over the ink and smudging the word "Dad" at the bottom of the page. He supposed there was something strangely and sadly poetic about that. He didn't attempt to swipe it away, instead watching as it dried into the paper, leaving the ink smudged slightly. He thought that was okay, leaving it that way. He wondered what Stevie would think when she saw that tear-smudged signature. He sighed and looked back up at the calendar. As time had slipped by, Henry had found himself increasingly sad and missing his family. He had begun to doubt what he was doing across the world from them. He was barely sleeping, and he was tortured by the idea of what this all must be doing to Elizabeth and to their children. He desperately wanted to get back to them, and while he was still fearful about what he would be walking into, he mostly just wanted to see Elizabeth again. She had been his solace for thirty years, and as he sat, miserable and alone on his daughter's birthday, all he wanted was to curl up with her. He wanted to hug his children and make pancakes and sing happy birthday to Stevie. He just wanted to go home. Henry folded the letter, and slipped it into the drawer with the others to Elizabeth. Then, he leaned his head forward and wept.

Across the world, Stephanie McCord stood in her bedroom and brought her hand up to touch the delicate gold necklace that hung around her neck. It had been a gift for her eighteenth birthday from her dad. It was a beautiful pendant, a family heirloom, and one of Stevie's most treasured possessions. Now, she couldn't stand to look at it. Stevie had been dreading her birthday this year, and now that it had arrived, four months after her dad's sudden death, she already wished it could be over. She took a slow, deep breath. She'd never had a birthday without her dad before, without pancakes and bear hugs and the bright energy that he breathed into their home and their lives. Today was going to be different, and Stevie found herself wondering whether there would come a time when this felt normal. When waking up without her dad there for her birthday was no longer monumental. That scared her, the idea that someday her dad's absence from her life would be the norm rather than something that felt wrong every second of the day.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, unbeknownst to her children, Elizabeth was facing a daunting task. She stood next to the kitchen island, a cookbook open in front of her and a variety of ingredients assembled around it. She exhaled heavily and gazed down at the cookbook skeptically. Pancakes. Pancakes couldn't be that hard, right? Henry had made them a thousand times, and they hadn't looked that hard. However, Elizabeth knew better than to get cocky. She was a terrible cook, but she was determined to make today special somehow. Stevie and Henry had been so close, and Elizabeth knew that this day was going to be hard for all of them, but most especially for Stevie. She hated the idea of cold cereal and takeout for what should be a joyful day. So with a determined exhale, Elizabeth set to work.

Stevie didn't descend the stairs until the smoke alarm was going off. Hurrying down the steps with Alison not far behind her, the two sisters stalled when they caught a look at the scene before them. It was, to say the least, a disaster. There was flour everywhere, and the countertop appeared to be slick with butter. The kitchen was filled with a thin haze of smoke and Elizabeth was at the center of it all, leaning forward over the sink. There was a faint sizzling sound as water ran into a too-hot pan. Alison and Stevie looked at one another, both of them fully aware of what they were looking at.

"Mom?" Stevie said, and Elizabeth jumped, glancing back to find her daughters watching her. She seemed to deflate before their eyes.

"Stevie," she said, turning the water off and leaning back against the countertop in apparent defeat. There was a moment of silence in which Stevie swallowed hard.

"It's okay, Mom," she said as she crossed the kitchen to stand beside Elizabeth. Blue eyes met blue eyes, and understanding passed silently between mother and daughter.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Elizabeth sighed. Stevie shook her head and wrapped her arms around her mom, who had to fight back tears. She and Stevie hadn't had a perfect relationship by any means, especially since Stevie's rough and tumble teenage years, but there was deep love that existed between them. Now, it was nearly as tangible as the emptiness they were all still feeling in Henry's absence.

"Thank you for trying," Stevie managed, even though she really wished that her mom hadn't. She understood the gesture though, knew what Elizabeth had been trying to do.

"Do you want to maybe go out for breakfast?" Elizabeth asked as she pulled away, but Stevie shook her head.

"No," she answered. "I've got to get to work soon anyway. I'll just help you clean up here, alright?"

"Are you sure?" Elizabeth asked again, and Stevie forced a smile onto her face.

"I'm sure," she answered, and as they set to work, neither of them saw alison turn away in tears and head back up the stairs.

"We're still doing dinner tonight, right?" Elizabeth asked, and stevie nodded. They'd made plans to go out to dinner for Stevie's birthday- halfhearted plans, but plans nonetheless.

"Yeah," she agreed. As the silently finished cleaning the kitchen, Elizabeth glanced over at her eldest child and thought that Stevie looked older now than she had that morning they'd said goodbye to Henry. As if she was no longer the little girl who had indulged in her father's pancakes so eagerly and laughed when he swept her up in a bear hug. She still hadn't cried over his death, but it had clearly taken its toll on her in other ways. Elizabeth sighed, wiping the butter and flour off of the counter and wishing she'd been able to at least feel like she was doing something to help Stevie. _Was that selfish?_ she wondered. She didn't know. Some days, like this one, it felt as if she didn't really know anything anymore.

"This was sweet of you," Stevie said as she rinsed out a dishcloth and then moved to pour coffee into her travel mug with a glance at Elizabeth. Elizabeth managed a half-smile at that and kissed her daughter's cheek.

"Happy birthday, Stevie," Elizabeth said softly. Stevie smiled.

"Thanks, Mom," she said, but as Elizabeth walked away, Stevie was thinking that she'd never had a less happy birthday in her life.


	10. Chapter 10

Elizabeth stepped into the elevator on the ground floor of the State Department, absentmindedly fiddling with her wedding band as she offered a polite and cordial smile to the man inside. His name was Alan, if she recalled correctly, and he was about two inches shorter than her, with dyed black hair that always looked a little bit greasy. She couldn't recall what his job was exactly, but she told herself that it didn't matter. She'd only had a couple of interactions with him during her tenure as Secretary of State. He smiled back at her, maybe a little more widely than was necessary, but she thought nothing of it. That is, until the doors slid closed and she caught his gaze on her hands. She looked down and let go of her ring, consciously moving her hands to her sides instead.

"I get it," Alan said in his unpleasantly scratchy voice.

"Hmm?" Elizabeth hummed, glancing over at him. He nodded to her ring.

"I get it," he repeated. "Not being able to let go."

"Oh, I-" she began, but he was still talking.

"I lost my wife a few years ago," he said, with the air of someone confiding a deep secret. It was not a secret at all; in fact, Elizabeth remembered having heard about it when it happened.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said instead of pointing that out, and Alan nodded solemnly.

"You're a widow now," he said, nodding his head unnecessarily. "So you _get it_."

"Uh huh," Elizabeth said. She glanced up at the top of the elevator doors, watching as one floor button lit up. _Only the third floor? How was that even possible?_ She willed the elevator to move more quickly as awkward silence settled over the two of them.

"It's the nights that are the loneliest," Alan said, side-eyeing her. She glanced in his direction and struggled to maintain a neutral expression. Unsure what she was supposed to say to that, Elizabeth was almost grateful that he continued to speak and didn't seem to require an answer from her.

"Sometimes you just want to talk to someone who _gets it,_ you know?" he said.

 _Oh god._ Elizabeth cleared her throat and nodded politely as she looked back up at the top of the doors. Floor five. Just two more to go.

"I'm- um, not sure I'm there yet," she said, cringing at the sound of her own voice.

"I'm not sure we ever are," Alan mused, and Elizabeth bit her lip. _Please shut up_ , she thought, but Alan didn't seem to get the message.

"Alas, we must trek on," he continued, and Elizabeth was seized by a bizarre urge to laugh. She forced herself to maintain her composure, thinking it best to just nod her head instead of saying anything at all.

"Oh, look at that!" she heard herself say. "This is my floor." The doors slid open and Elizabeth did not look at the man next to her, instead keeping her eyes on Blake, who stood beyond the doors with a cup of coffee in hand. "It was lovely chatting with you, Alan, have a nice day," she managed in a rush as she all but stumbled from the elevator in her desperation to escape the awkward conversation.

"I hope to talk to you again, Madam Secretary!" Alan called as the doors closed. Elizabeth shook her head, reaching for the coffee.

"Thank god you have coffee, Blake," she breathed as she took a drink of the scalding liquid. Blake raised his eyebrows, glancing back at the now-closed elevator doors.

"Rough morning?" he asked. Elizabeth chuckled drily.

"Alan is a widower," she said. "And he had _advice_."

"Yikes," Blake muttered, and Elizabeth thought that pretty much summed it up.

"Yikes," she repeated.

Elizabeth stood in the master bathroom, and looked over her shoulder at the closet. Henry's clothes hung right where he'd left them five months ago. Then, Elizabeth had not been able to stand the idea of touching them. When she'd been cleaning, she'd carefully replaced all of Henry's things back where they'd been.

It's been five months, she told herself. It's time to at least try.

She hated the idea of it. She hated everything that it stood for. She hated the idea that it meant she was accepting the loss of someone she'd never wanted to lose. Henry had meant everything to her. He'd been more than her husband, more even than the father of her children. He had been her best friend. He'd been the one person she had ever felt she could fully trust, no holds barred, with utter abandon. Henry had been her whole world. He continued to exist in every crevice of her life, and in their children. Yet, his things seemed to taunt her every day with the knowledge that he would never be coming back to pick them up again. She'd been told she could take her time with something like this, but five months sounded like a long time to leave everything the same, as if he could just walk back in and shrug his shoulders into one of those blue button-downs or run the abandoned razor over his jaw again.

She took a slow, deep breath, and stepped into the closet. She stood with her back to her own clothing, facing Henry's, and reached out to run delicate fingertips over the fabric of his work clothes, hanging neatly there before her. She shuddered at the feeling of the fabric on her skin, remembering curling herself into his chest and tugging at those buttons and the feeling of his arms around her. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she sighed, dropping her hand back down to her side. She bowed her head, eyes falling on a pair of beat up tennis shoes that were resting on the floor. They were layered, one atop the other, as if Henry had tossed them carelessly into the closet thinking he'd be back to straighten them up later. The laces were still tied. Elizabeth could picture him standing where she stood now, toeing out of them instead of taking the time to undo the laces. For some reason that she could not identify, that hit Elizabeth hard. The idea that he had been so sure that he'd be back for them, that he'd not bothered to think about what he was doing. It was prevalent, a theme that followed her no matter where she looked. Henry had been as unprepared as she had. They'd been going about their lives, living as if they had days and weeks and decades of time together ahead of them. She felt tears spill over from her eyes and slip down her cheeks, leaving trails on her skin that Henry was no longer around to wipe away. The first time she'd cried in front of Henry, he'd tried to do that and she had pulled away from him. A choked sob tore air from her lungs as she recalled that now and thought about what she would trade to have a chance to relive that moment, to let his fingers brush tenderly over her skin and dry her tears. She sank to the ground beneath her, and when she looked up she was seized by a rush of violent anger. She'd thought the tragedy of her life was behind her, that she'd suffered enough loss. And now this. Reaching up, Elizabeth pulled sharply on the fabric of one of Henry's shirts. It slipped from the hanger and fell to the ground. That felt good. She reached for another one, and pulled. It joined its brother on the closet floor, the fabric hiding Henry's shoes from view. Taking a shuddering breath, Elizabeth did it again, and again, and again. Soon, all of Henry's clothes were lying in a mass of crumpled fabric on the closet floor, surrounding Elizabeth. She glanced up at the empty hangers that hung above her and her heart seemed to shatter all over again in her chest. It was as if the hangers were the twisted metaphor for her life; empty, broken, lonely, and forlorn. She drew her knees to her chest and dropped her head down as she sobbed, thinking there had been one word missing from that lineup.

 _Hopeless._


	11. Chapter 11

" _It's done."_

Henry played the words over in his mind, time and time again. _It's done. It's done. It's done._ It seemed to be in synch with the beating of his heart as he leaned against the door of the small apartment he'd been inhabiting for the past six months. He was going home. The operation was complete, and Henry had facilitated the safe return of every American who had been in danger. No one had even been injured. It had been long and grueling and difficult, and now he was going home. He took a slow breath and pushed off of the surface of the door. It didn't take Henry long to pack; he'd barely been able to convince himself to be there, let alone really unpack in the first place. His few possessions found their way back into his suitcase and soon, the apartment bore no trace that he'd been there at all, except for one thing. He crossed the room to the little desk and opened the top right hand drawer. A stack of letters were the only thing in it, and Henry picked them up carefully, transferring them safely to the front pocket of his bag. He took a deep breath and didn't bother to take one last look around before he was out the door for the very last time.

On the plane that would return Henry to his family a few hours later, Henry looked down at a blank sheet of paper. Glancing out the window, he gazed at the clouds and wished he knew what words to say. He would be seeing his wife and children in a matter of hours, and they had no idea he was even alive. He was both excited and so nervous that he thought he might actually vomit. He returned his gaze to the paper and dated it- one last letter to Elizabeth to join the others, he told himself. One final piece of this awful, heart wrenching, terrible piece of their story together.

 _Dearest Elizabeth,_

 _I'm on my way home to you and I almost cannot allow myself to believe it. I can't recall ever being so nervous in my entire life, which is an odd feeling considering that you have always felt like home. Your presence alone has always been able to ease my nerves in an instant, with just one glance of your eyes or one small smile or the tiniest touch. Yet, the idea of seeing you again elicits a myriad of feelings just now. I can't wait to hold you in my arms again, to wrap you up against me and never let you go. I can't wait to kiss you and see the way you look at me and hear your voice again. I can't wait to see the kids, to see if Jason is taller than I am yet and to give Stevie the letter I wrote for her birthday and just hold Alison. But if I'm being honest, and with you I always want to be, I'm scared. I'ms cared that nothing will be the same. That you will all have moved on or that you'll be different people or that nothing will fit the way it used to. That you won't understand or be able to forgive me for what I've done to our family. It's been on my mind nearly every moment of the last six months, this fear that you will hate me for the choice I made. But Elizabeth, it wasn't like that. I never wanted to leave you. I've been a mess for the past six months and they've been the worst and longest of my life. Even so, I know that you've been through hell in these weeks we've been apart. You've mourned the death of all that we had. The death of your husband, your friend, your family, everything that you believed in. I believe you can come back from that. I believe we can come back from that. I believe that the love we have for each other is enough. But if that's too much for you, I'll understand. If I've gone too far this time, Elizabeth, I get it. If you can't handle it, please don't feel badly. I understand. I understand if it's too hard to move forward with me. I'm going to give you these letters, and by the time you get to this one, you'll have a clear picture of my life for the past half a year without you. As much as I hope this half of a year does not eclipse the thirty before it, I don't want you to suffer anymore. I want you to do whatever is going to give you the most peace. If that's to continue mourning, to move forward without that in your life, I understand. Don't sacrifice your peace of mind for me. Do what you have to do. But also remember that I'm going to be yours until the end of time. I'll love you until my last breath and then some, Elizabeth McCord. You are a force, a gift, and my truest, deepest, most treasured love. You always were, and you always will be, my heart and soul. I love you, more than all the stars._

 _Always,_

 _Henry_

Biting back tears, Henry folded the letter and creased it forcefully, giving it a sense of finality as he added it to the others in his bag next to him. With that, he gazed out the window once more and lost himself to thoughts of Elizabeth and his uncertain future with her.

Meanwhile, across the world in Washington, DC, Russell Jackson closed the door of the Oval Office and waited for the President to speak.

"Henry McCord is coming home," Conrad said. Russell physically stopped in his tracks.

"He's coming home?" he repeated, and Conrad nodded again.

"He's on a plane as we speak."

"When does he land?" Russell asked, emotionless tone not betraying the way his heart was beating erratically in his chest. He flashed back to that night with Elizabeth, and thought of Stevie at her tiny intern desk on the other side of these walls, and he was filled with a desperation to do something, even though he would never admit it out loud. He had come to love the McCords, in spite of and perhaps a little bit because of, their hopeful spirits and inability to be knocked down. It had not been easy for Russell, keeping his mouth shut about this. Every time he caught Stevie gazing off into the distance as if she were living on another planet, he'd wanted to tell her. And every time he walked into Elizabeth's office unannounced and saw the family photos collecting dust behind her, he'd had to bite his tongue. Facilitating their reunion, he thought, was the very least he could do.

"Seven p.m.," the President responded

"I'll get Elizabeth and the kids here by eight," Russell said. Conrad nodded, and just as Russell was turning to leave, he spoke again.

"What if I've destroyed them?" he asked, as if the question was hard to ask. Russell turned slowly back to look at him. Their eyes met across the oval office and Russell sighed.

"Then that'll be on you," he responded truthfully. "But if we're being honest, I don't think it's possible."

With that, he turned and left, and Conrad, alone once more with his decisions, took a drink.


	12. Chapter 12

Henry was exhausted as he walked through the White House halls for the first time in six months, accompanied by Russell Jackson. Henry glanced over at him.

"How are they?" he asked. Russell looked at him, slowing slightly, his face betraying nothing.

"They're okay," he answered. "Stevie and Elizabeth are both back at work."

Henry nodded. He swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest as he watched Russell look at something on the screen of his phone.

"They're going to be here soon," Russell informed him, and henry felt a wave of nausea pass over him.

"You alright?" Russell asked, and Henry nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, even though he wasn't sure how honest that was. He was desperate to see Elizabeth and the kids, but his anxiety about it had only increased since he'd written his last letter to Elizabeth on the plane. He was not so nervous about their initial reactions, but more so about what it was going to look like beyond that. He wasn't sure what he was going to be walking into at home. For all he knew, they could have moved by now. He didn't think that was very likely, but even the possibility made him feel nervous and sick. He had never liked the feeling of being unprepared, and right then he'd never felt less prepared in his whole life.

"Henry, good to see you," Conrad said as Henry and Russell entered the Oval Office. Henry could not really return the sentiment thanks to a combination of fear, exhaustion, and traces of anger with Conrad for having put him in this position in the first place. Henry just nodded and Conrad smiled, though it looked strained.

"Thank you for what you've done, Henry," he said, and Henry nodded again. Conrad seemed to understand the silence, and awkwardly patted Henry's shoulder, nodding his head.

"We're going to get you back with your family soon," he said, and that was the only welcome thing he'd said as far as Henry was concerned. Henry sat down to wait.

"Why are we doing this?" Jason asked. Elizabeth sighed wearily; things had been better since Will's visit, but not perfect by any means. Jason was still even more difficult than he'd been in the first place, which she'd have said eight months ago was no easy feat.

"Because the President has asked us to," she answered. Elizabeth and her children had been summoned to the Oval Office. The details were vague, but she thought it had something to do with honoring Henry. She didn't really care, truth be told, but she knew it was her duty to go anyway. She had a sliver of hope that it would bring the kids some peace, but she wasn't counting on it. Alison had slept in Elizabeth's bed every night for the past six months, and she'd never seen Stevie so dispassionate. She was quieter now than she'd ever been, and it was more than unnerving.

The whole situation was disheartening, and that didn't even touch on Elizabeth herself. She was barely holding it together, and she spent a great deal of her time sitting very still. She found that if she just didn't think, it was all a lot easier to deal with. Everything in the house reminded her of Henry, and yet she still couldn't bring herself to change anything. She just went to work and came home and tended to the kids, day after day of monotony that had once been broken up by Henry's bright spirit.

"Alright, guys, let's get going," she said, smoothing a hand over Alison's hair as her middle child poked disinterestedly at the soup in her bowl. "You ready, Noodle?" she asked. Alison just nodded, and the soup went into the trash, and the McCords filed silently out of the house.

At the White House, Russell Jackson led Elizabeth and her children into his office. Elizabeth surveyed him as he straightened papers unnecessarily and looked anywhere but at her or the kids.

"You seem awfully jumpy," she remarked, and he looked up at her, more deer in the headlights than she'd ever seen him. He did not reply, and suddenly Elizabeth was overcome by fear. A glance at her kids found them much the same way; they were exchanging nervous glances and she couldn't help but start to wonder what exactly they were here for.

"Is there something wrong, Russell?" she asked in a low voice, leaning in toward him.

"No," he answered evenly. "Everything's fine."

But Elizabeth's perceptive nature was rearing its head, and she was not convinced he was telling the truth. She could tell; something was off about this whole situation. She just couldn't tell what it was.

"Russell-" she began, but he met her gaze and shook his head. Something about it reached her, and she fell silent.

Meanwhile, behind the door to the Oval Office, Conrad Dalton turned to the man to his right. Henry swallowed hard. He felt as if his whole world was tilting on its axis, everything riding on this moment.

"Are you ready?" he asked. When he had received a nod in confirmation, he approached the door to Russell's office and opened it just enough to view Elizabeth, who was still eyeing

Russell anxiously.

"Hey, Bess," he said. "Can I speak to just you first?"

She glanced back at her kids, all standing there in Russell's office, and then nodded.

"Yeah," she agreed. "You guys just...stay here, okay?" she instructed, receiving three silent nods in all were looking at her nervously, and as she watched, Stevie's eyes turned to Russell in fear.

"It's going to be fine, guys," she said. They nodded again, looking slightly placated. Elizabeth stepped through the door after him and pulled it closed behind her, and then she looked up.

Her heart stumbled in her chest and Elizabeth had suddenly forgotten how to breathe. Standing across from her was her husband, safe and unharmed and alive and there, right in front of her. She was quite certain that her lungs were no longer working. Henry, meanwhile, met Elizabeth's eyes and suddenly he no longer felt sick inside, but rather warm and as if there was something shining in his chest.

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice reaching her ears for the first time in six months, when she'd thought she would never hear him speak her name like that again, and just like that, it no longer mattered that the President was there or that they were in the Oval Office or that she should have maintained a shred of decorum. None of it mattered; all that she cared about was Henry. He had taken one step toward her, a heartbreakingly cautious step that made her think he was unsure of how she would react, and the next second she had run across the elaborate carpet and launched herself into his arms so fiercely that she was lifted off her feet when he caught her.

"Henry," she sobbed as he immediately wrapped her in his arms. Overwhelmed in every possible way, Elizabeth just clung to him and cried. She was unsure if they were tears of relief or joy or anger or some other mix of the many emotions that coursed through her, but it didn't matter.

"I know, baby. I know. I'm here," he assured her. He held her tightly, never wanting to let go. He had missed her so much; Henry was pretty sure that he hadn't slept more than a couple of hours at a time for the last six months, always dragged to consciousness by the thought of her and their children, grieving and alone halfway across the world. He believed in what he was doing, serving his country, but _god, it had hurt to leave her_. And now, now that he was back home with her wrapped up in his arms, he just wanted to stay there forever.

Elizabeth found that she actually couldn't breathe, but she was entirely unwilling to remove her fingers from where they were fisted in Henry's shirt or her head from its place buried against Henry's neck where it fit just so perfectly.

"I know it's hard, sweetheart, but I need you to breathe," Henry reminded her softly in her ear. She was trembling against him and he could feel her struggling to catch her breath and draw in air. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as well, but he was somewhat more composed than his wife. After all, he had known she was safe the whole time. She, meanwhile, had been living a multi-layered nightmare.

"Just breathe, Elizabeth. I've got you, okay? Everything is going to be okay now, baby. Just breathe for me," he begged. Elizabeth fought to catch her breath, and with Henry assuring her that everything was okay, she slowly managed to inhale.

"There you go," Henry said softly. She was still sobbing, though, and her whole body trembled against him.

"Here," he said a few moments later. He pulled back from her, the intention being to move her to the sofa so that she could sit. However, at the loss of contact, Elizabeth lost it. After months of desperately trying to hold herself together, being wrapped in his arms had undone it all and the loss of contact sent her into a spiral.

"No, Henry, don't," she gasped, panic visible on her face, in her eyes, and in the way her fingers clutched his shirt, desperate to keep him in her grasp as a physical reminder that he was there with her.

"Okay, okay," he relented quickly, pulling her close again. "It's okay, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you, Elizabeth, I'm right here."

"Henry," she whimpered.

"I know, baby," he assured her. His heart was breaking, shattering in his chest, seeing her like this; he just wanted his fierce, funny, sparkling Elizabeth back. But for now, she could have been trying to kill him and he would still be all relief to have her back in his sights.

"I've got you," he said through his tears. "I'm not leaving you, Elizabeth. Just breathe, babe."

"Henry, I-"

"I know," he assured her. "We're going to talk later, alright? Just breathe for right now, okay? Please?"

She would have done anything he asked just then, so she nodded her head and buried herself against his chest, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of Henry against her.

"The kids," she managed some time later. It had just occurred to her that they were still in Russell's office, and that they didn't know that Henry was here, and suddenly all she could think about was putting her whole family back together.

"Are you ready to let go for a second?" he asked. She hesitated.

"Stay close, okay?" she asked, so quietly that only Henry could hear her. He met her eyes; they had so much to talk about, but not now.

"I'll be right here," he promised, and she nodded.

Conrad, glad to be able to do something, approached the door again and beckoned to the children. Moments later, Henry and Elizabeth watched as their daughters and son cautiously entered the office.

"Dad!"

To Elizabeth's surprise, Jason had lit up at the sight of Henry, and he was the first to collide with Henry's chest. Henry wrapped Jason tightly in his arms while Elizabeth stood close by.

"Jason," Henry choked. Their son was followed closely by both of his sisters after a stunned silence that was quickly overrun by all of them talking at once through tears.

"I know," Henry was saying soothingly as he attempted to reach them all at once. "It's okay, guys. It's okay."

"Dad," Stevie sobbed. Elizabeth turned her eyes from her husband to their eldest child, tears coming to her own eyes at the sight of Stevie crying so intensely. It was the first time Elizabeth had seen her cry since before Henry's supposed death.

"I've got you," Henry assured her, pulling her close to his chest. She clung to him much the way that her mother had, sobbing against his shoulder. "Shh," Henry murmured in her ear. "Shh. Stevie, sweetheart, you're okay. I'm right here." Alison was curled into Henry's side, weeping as much as her sister was as Henry kissed the top of her head. Jason turned away from Henry just enough to see Elizabeth, and hugged her tightly.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered through his tears, and she shook her head.

"No," she replied as she ran her hand over his head. "No, Jason, baby, it's okay. You don't need to be sorry. It's okay."

And she realized in that moment as Henry reached out to her and her whole family ended up in a tangled knot of limbs and tears, that it had a long road ahead of them, but for the first time in six months, everything was okay. And for right then, that was more than enough.


	13. Chapter 13

It was nearly eleven p.m. by the time Henry, Elizabeth, and their three children arrived at the Georgetown home they inhabited. Elizabeth's head was spinning; a strange sort of silence prevailed in the car ride home after they had all learned where Henry had spent the last six months. The children seemed unable to take their eyes off of Henry for more than a few seconds at a time, and Elizabeth had not let go of his hand. Henry, of course, didn't mind. He was bone-tired, but he could barely think of sleeping now; he wanted to gaze at Elizabeth and their children forever, now that he was back with them. Elizabeth continued to hold his hand as they headed inside, and she glanced over at him to find him looking around almost curiously at the house. Her own gaze fell on her desk as the kids hesitated in the entryway, and Elizabeth marveled at how quickly things could change. When she'd left her house earlier that evening, she'd thought there was no chance she was ever going to see her husband again. She would have bet her life on it, and now he was standing next to her, his warm hand in hers. She shook her head at the sheer insanity of it, but Henry squeezed her hand lightly and she looked over at him, overrun with gratitude that she lived in a world insane enough to have brought him back to her.

"What do we do now?" Jason asked, voicing the question that everyone else had been wondering.

"I think we all need to get some rest," Elizabeth said softly. She could see how exhausted Henry was, even though he hadn't said a word about it, and was oddly comforted by the fact that she could still read him so easily.

"I'm not leaving Dad," Stevie said quickly. Henry raised his arm to wrap it around her shoulders and she curled against him. Elizabeth couldn't fault her for that.

"Any or all of you can sleep with us if you want to," she said, hugging Jason briefly. There was a light in his eyes that she hadn't seen for six months, and she wondered if that was true of her as well. Even though she was still processing, and would be for a long time, she could already feel something of a difference in herself. She could breathe more easily now than she had since losing Henry, as if his return had flipped a tiny switch within her.

"Why don't you guys go and get changed, okay?" Henry said to the children as they climbed the stairs. He caught the cautious looks that his daughters exchanged and offered to them what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"I promise I'm just going to be in the bedroom with Mom," he assured them. "I promise."

There were hesitant nods and lingering looks, and then the children were gone and Henry and Elizabeth stood alone in their bedroom.

"Come on," Elizabeth said softly. "Let's get changed."

Henry followed her into their closet and looked down at his clothes, all piled into a heap on the floor. Elizabeth, pulling her pajamas from a shelf, glanced over and followed his gaze to the clothing.

"They've been like that for a month," she said quietly. There was some component of her voice that Henry couldn't identify.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I tried to get rid of them," she admitted. The shadow of a smile flickered over her features. "I just couldn't," she said. "Couldn't bring myself to do it. But it felt good to pull them all down and...well, I just couldn't ever really make myself do anything with them."

Henry studied her. She had been through so much, without him. His fear was beginning to creep back into his awareness as the joy of seeing his family again began to wear off. Seeing the physical evidence of what they'd been through made him wonder again whether they'd be able to make this work following what he'd done to them.

"Everything is pretty much how you left it," she said as she pulled her shirt over her head. Henry's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her bare skin, and she caught him staring. Her heart skipped a beat at the look on his face, and she raised her eyes to meet his gaze.

"What?" she asked.

"You're...youre beautiful," he managed through his tears. She looked away, but he saw the faint flicker of a smile and her blue eyes lit up a little bit. She shook her head, laughing mirthlessly.

"This is just so bizarre," she confided as she replaced her blouse with a comfortable tee shirt. "To have you standing here."

"In a...good or bad way?" Henry asked uncertainly, and she glanced back again at the sound of his voice. Henry switched his shirt in an attempt to cover the awkwardness he felt at having asked. His heart hammered as he waited for her to answer.

"Henry," Elizabeth said softly, and something compelled him to look over at her, finding everything about her having softened by his forced question. She stepped across the small space between them and ran her fingers over his jaw before she folded herself into his arms. He felt himself go breathless at her gentle embrace.

"I am so glad you're home," she breathed against his shoulder. A moment of silence passed over them, and then they were interrupted by the sound of their children returning to the bedroom. Her gaze lingered on him as they pulled away, and her fingers passed over his chest as she turned to face the kids. Henry smiled slightly at them as he followed Elizabeth from the closet back into the bedroom.

"Sorry," Alison said as she caught Henry's eyes lingering on the book she'd left on his nightstand. "I've kind of been...sleeping in here."

"It's okay, Noodle," Henry assured her casually. As he watched, she burst into tears, and he looked hopelessly over at Elizabeth, then reached out to hug Alison.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed into his chest. "I just- never thought you'd be- I thought-"

"Shh," he soothed. "It's okay, baby. It's okay." To his surprise and that of everyone else, Alison pulled away from him and turned to her mother. Elizabeth opened her arms to Alison, who crumbled against her.

"I've got you, baby," she soothed. "You're okay. It's alright."

She looked over Alison's head at Henry, who was watching them with tears in his eyes. Her heart broke for him, but she was also overcome with a feeling of protectiveness that made her feel vaguely uncomfortable. She had never felt the need to protect her children from Henry, yet that was the emotion that was coursing through her now, and it made her want to cry.

"Are you okay?" Elizabeth asked softly, and Alison nodded. She turned almost shyly back to Henry, dark eyes seeming to plead with him as she stayed next to Elizabeth.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," she said. Henry shook his head.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he assured her. "Don't worry about it."

Henry sat down on the bed and watched as the rest of his family settled in around him. Stevie still had tears coursing down her cheeks; she'd barely stopped crying since first seeing Henry, and he watched her with concern, offering his arm to her. She silently folded herself against him and Jason found himself squished between his sisters, with Elizabeth on Alison's other side. Henry brushed his hand against Alison's shoulder across Jason, and she offered him a tiny smile in return that made him feel hopeful. He met his wife's gaze over their children and she held it, steady and intense.

"I'm sorry for what I put you all through," Henry said quietly a few minutes later.

"You had to," Stevie said immediately, surprising Henry. "Because the President asked."

"Yeah," Henry breathed, pressing a kiss to Stevie's light hair. She buried herself against him and closed her eyes. Elizabeth wrapped her arm around Alison and her hand found Henry's, tangling their fingers together.

"Sleep, guys," she urged. She looked over at Henry, thinking that she'd never seen him look more tired. Her heart ached as she ran her thumb over his knuckles and watched him smile tiredly at her. As much as she loved having her whole family together again, she desperately wanted to hold him, just the two of them, wrapped up together with his head on her shoulder and his arms around her. Later, she told herself.

"Henry," she said softly, and he met her eyes again. "Sleep," she implored. "You look exhausted."

He nodded his head slightly, squeezing her hand gently.

"I love you, Elizabeth," he said. Her heart skipped a beat and she had to remind herself to breathe.

"I love you, too."

"Dad?" Jason said from the center of the bed, and they both looked down at him. He looked more earnestly at Henry then than he ever had before.

"Yeah?" Henry asked.

"If I go to sleep, are you going to be here when I wake up?" he asked softly. Henry had not thought it was possible for his heart to break more thoroughly than it had already in the previous six months, but in that moment he was proved wrong.

"Yes," he answered. "I promise I'm not leaving you again, Jace. Sleep, alright? It's okay."

Jason nodded hesitantly and leaned his head against his sister as he slowly let his eyes fall closed. Ever so slowly, one by one, the rest of the McCords followed suit, all of them together for the first time in six months.


	14. Chapter 14

Henry awoke at nearly six a.m. the following morning. It marked the longest he'd slept since his last night here in this bed, and he breathed a slow sigh as he looked over at his sleeping kids next to him. He was so wrapped up in watching them that it took him a half-second longer than it might have otherwise to notice that one member of the family was notably missing from the room. Elizabeth's side of the bed was empty, and as he looked at it, he was overcome with a desire to be close to her. He gently and slowly extricated himself from Stevie, and shook his hand out as feeling returned to it. With one last glance at the kids, he checked to see if Elizabeth was in their bathroom, and upon finding that she was not, headed into the hallway and down the stairs. It was almost unnerving how little had changed in his absence. Elizabeth had not been kidding when she'd said that she hadn't been able to change things following his "death". He followed the light from the kitchen and paused on the stairs to observe the scene before him. Elizabeth was standing with her back to him at the kitchen sink, gazing past the glass window panes at the lightening sky outside. She glanced up and over her shoulder at the sound of his footsteps as he descended the final few stairs.

"Hey," he said softly, and she smiled slightly at him.

"Hey," she replied, suddenly feeling strangely shy. Henry seemed to be feeling it, too, because he stopped awkwardly several feet from her.

"Did you get some sleep?" she asked. Henry nodded.

"More than I have in the last six months," he admitted. A faint smile played over her features.

"Me, too," she admitted. "But a little less than you."

"How long have you been up?" Henry asked. He eyed the cabinets, and Elizabeth followed his gaze, reaching for a mug to fill with coffee for him.

"Not long," she answered. "Only a half hour or so," she continued as she handed him his mug of coffee. Their fingertips brushed as the mug was passed from her hand to his, and Elizabeth felt a rush of electricity at the contact.

"Elizabeth," he began after a moment of silence in which he took a drink of his coffee. He steeled himself, trying to remind himself that even if she said no, it didn't mean anything, and looked up to meet her eyes across the space between them.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked. Everything about her seemed to soften.

"Oh, Henry," she breathed. She set her mug down and closed the distance between them. Then, she carefully lifted his coffee from his hands and set it down next to hers. She took a half a second to revel in that sight. _His, and hers_ , she thought, and this time, it didn't bring her pain. It brought her peace now, as if order had been restored to her world, which, she reminded herself, it had. He watched her as she tilted her head back and rested her palm on his cheek. Henry leaned involuntarily into her touch, as if magnetized to her, and her fingers tugged gently at the back of his head, pulling him down to meet her. She brushed her lips lightly against his and Henry felt as if his heart might burst with love for her as she continued to kiss him, gently and lovingly and with such passion that he could have cried. They had yet to really talk, and he knew that would come, but he was quite sure that she still loved him as deeply as she always had. That in itself was a comfort to Henry. There in the half-light of sunrise, at home where they belonged, Henry and Elizabeth shared their first kiss in six months. He drew her in with a hand on her waist and Elizabeth's breath hitched in her throat. Everything about Henry seemed more treasured now that she'd struggled to come to terms with losing him for half a year.

Their beautiful, magical moment was broken all too soon, however, by a frantic call from the staircase.

"Mom! Dad?"

It was Jason's voice, flooded with fear and the telltale shakiness that informed them that their youngest was in tears. His footsteps thundered on the steps and Henry pulled away from Elizabeth, turning to face Jason as their son came into view.

"Dad," he sobbed, and Henry met him halfway at the bottom step, wrapping his arms tightly around the teenager.

"It's okay," Henry said. "It's okay, Jason, I'm right here."

Jason was sobbing unintelligible syllables against Henry, and the older man held his son tightly.

"Shh," he soothed. "I'm here. It's going to be alright, Jace. It's okay."

Jason slowly started to calm down, looking up at his dad with tear stained cheeks. Henry was reminded forcefully of the small, sensitive kid Jason had once been, and regret coursed through him at what he'd put his son through.

"You said you were going to be here," Jason managed.

"I was, Jace," Henry answered. "I'm right here. Just downstairs with Mom, alright? Hey," he said, fingers catching Jason's cheek in a gentle touch. Their eyes met and Jason took a breath. "I'm not going anywhere," Henry said seriously. "I'm here."

Elizabeth watched the two of them, marveling at the change in Jason.

"Come on," Henry said, wrapping his arm around Jason. "Let's go upstairs; I want to talk to you." Jason nodded and Henry glanced back at Elizabeth, who just smiled slightly at him. He nodded and disappeared from view at Jason's side, unaware that Elizabeth was having to remind herself that he was just going upstairs and that he would be back.

In Jason's bedroom, Henry's eyes were immediately drawn, as Will's had been weeks earlier, to the model plane on the surface of Jason's desk. It was a model of Henry's favorite plane, and unlike when Will had been there, it was complete.

"Oh, yeah," Jason said, sounding vaguely uncomfortable as he followed Henry's gaze. Jason sat in his desk chair, and picked up the plane. He looked down at it in silence and then passed it to Henry, who took it and looked between it and his son, who had never once in his life shown interest in model planes.

"I thought it might help," Jason explained. "And then Uncle Will was here and he told me finishing it would help, so I did, but...it kinda didn't help."

Henry was struck by how much he'd missed, and made a mental note to later thank Will for whatever he'd done to help them all.

"Jason," Henry began, looking up at his son, "I'm so sorry that I left you all."

Jason shrugged.

"I guess it's like Stevie said," he replied. "The President and all."

Henry nodded.

"Yeah. But that didn't make it any easier," he said, and Jason shook his head.

"No," he agreed. He ran his fingers over his no-longer-bruised knuckles, unsure how to say what he wanted to say. Then, he looked up at his dad and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry I was so awful to you," Jason said quietly. Henry stared at him; that was not at all what he'd been expecting. Anger, yes. Hurt, yes. An apology, not so much. "Mom and Stevie and Alison, they were always so clear in how they felt about you, you know, they told you that they loved you and it was just out there for everyone to see. But I was a brat." Jason looked down and took a shuddering breath.

"You told me that you loved me every day, and I didn't answer you, and Uncle Will says that you knew, but...I sort of can't get my head around that. I've been really angry and made life really difficult since...well, while you were gone, and I just wanted you to know that I didn't mean to be that way." He forced himself to look up at Henry, their eyes meeting as Henry continued to hold the model plane in his hands.

"I do love you," he said. "And I really missed you."

Tears sparkled in Jason's eyes and Henry swallowed the lump in his throat as he set the plane on Jason's bed and stood, Jason mirroring his actions. They hugged there in Jason's bedroom, and Henry felt his son trembling as he tried to maintain his composure.

"Uncle Will was right," Henry said softly. "I did know."

"Don't tell Uncle Will that," Jason said, and Henry laughed.

"Come on," Henry said as they pulled apart. "Let's go check on Mom."

With that, the two McCord men reached an understanding, and Henry found himself wondering if just maybe something good could come out of all this.


	15. Chapter 15

"Hi, Alison."

She looked up from her desk at the sound of her dad's voice. They'd all had breakfast together, which had been equal parts awkward and healing. Then, Alison had found herself unable to stand being around her family like that. It was so overwhelming, having her dad home all of a sudden. There were so many feelings coursing through her, and she had so much to think about, so she'd sought peace and quiet at her desk upstairs. She had spent the last hour staring at a blank piece of paper and wishing she could put colored pencil to paper and create something. Now, she glanced over her shoulder at her dad and offered him a timid smile.

"Hi, Dad," she said.

"Can I come in?" Henry asked. Alison's room looked much the same as he remembered it, but when he glanced at her nightstand he found a new framed photo there, and the sight made his throat close up with emotion. It was a photograph of him with his daughter. Alison couldn't have been more than ten when the photo was taken, in which Alison was on Henry's back and they were both laughing. Only half of Henry's face was visible as he was turning to see his daughter. It was a photo Henry hadn't seen in a long time, and now it made him more than a little emotional to see that she had added it to her bedroom in his absence.

"Yeah, come in," Alison answered, and she watched as he stepped cautiously into the room, perching on the edge of her bed in much the same way he had on Jason's earlier in the day.

"Sorry for disappearing after breakfast," Alison said softly. Henry shook his head.

"It's okay," he said. "We figured you just needed some space."

"Yeah," Alison sighed, glancing back at the paper on her desk. "I just wish it had worked." Henry, too, looked at the piece of paper, and Alison followed his eyes to it, sighing again as she looked over at him.

"I haven't' been very productive in the creative department for a while," she admitted. Henry swallowed hard; he'd known that this would be hard on all of them, but seeing it right in front of him made his insides squirm. He hated it, and he felt incredibly guilty for having been the cause of it.

"It's not your fault," Alison said as she looked over at him. She half wanted to blame her dad, but watching him look at her blank sheet of paper like that, she was overcome with pure gratitude to have him home. Had she been asked a month ago, she would have traded in a hundred creative successes to have one more moment with her dad, and now she had it. She was feeling unsure about almost everything just then, but this was not among them. He looked up at her and she met his gaze.

"It's not?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"I would never design anything again as long as it means we get you back," Alison admitted quietly. Henry stared at her; he'd gotten the impression the night before that Alison, while relieved to have him home, was nervous around him. He'd understood that, but now looking at her he was overcome with love for her. Alison had always been their most sensitive and tender hearted child, and he'd worried a lot about how she was doing when he'd been gone.

"I'm so sorry, Noodle," he said. "I know how hard this must have been for you."

"And you," Alison reminded him, as she raised her head to meet his gaze. "It couldn't have been easy being away, especially knowing what we all thought." Henry was grateful for her understanding of it all, for the way she had grown and the grasp that she seemed to have on the situation in spite of how upset she still was.

"It was really strange without you here," she said as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt, hands in her lap. Henry watched her quietly, sensing that she was merely gathering her thoughts and did not yet require an answer from him. He was right; a moment later, she spoke again.

"Are you and Mom going to stay together?" Alison asked. Henry's blood seemed to run cold at the question, which was one that had been on his mind for months.

"I have no reason to think that we wouldn't," Henry answered, and Alison studied him.

"But you don't know," she said.

"Ali," he began, "Mom and I haven't really talked. So I can't say that I know for sure, no. But I know that we love each other and we're going to do our best to work through our issues, like we always have."

"Are you scared?" Alison asked, and Henry nodded.

"Yes," he admitted honestly. They were quiet for a moment, and Alison looked over at him.

"Are you upset with me for reacting the way that I did last night?" she asked timidly.

"Oh, Alison, no," Henry said, rushing to reassure her. "Of course not."

"It's just- I'm so glad to have you home, but I just don't know how to handle it. Any of it," she admitted. "It's so strange, having you here again when I've spent all this time trying to figure out how to handle being without you."

"I know," Henry told her. "It's a process, Ali, I get that. It's going to take patience from all of us to get through this." She nodded gratefully in response; she found that she was comforted by the knowledge that her dad had reacted just the way he always would have. She had worried he would be a different person now, and on some levels she still worried about that, but so far he seemed to be the same Dad she'd grown up with. She was hopeful now, hopeful that with time and, as he'd said, patience, things could go back to normal.

"I'm glad you're back, Dad," she said softly, and Henry offered her a small smile.

"Me too, Noodle," he said, and before she could talk herself out of it, Alison threw herself into his arms. He chuckled lightly and held her tight, hugging her against his chest and gladly taking in the feeling of having her in his arms.

"I promise I'm not ever going to do something like that to you again, Ali," he murmured. "I promise I'll never leave you willingly again, okay?" She nodded silently against him and Henry pressed a kiss to her dark hair.

"I've got to talk to your sister," he said when she'd pulled away. "Come and get me if you need anything from me, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

And then he was gone, and Alison turned back to her blank sheet of paper, feeling somewhat more hopeful that someday soon, the page would be colored again.

Down the hall, Henry found Stevie in her bedroom as well. He ran his fingers over the sheet of paper in his pocket nervously and knocked lightly on her doorframe. She looked up and Henry was struck for what had to be the millionth time by how much she looked like Elizabeth. It seemed that every year that went by, Stevie looked more and more like her mother.

"Hi, Dad," she said. It didn't feel quite right on her tongue, but she told herself that it would pass and just pushed forward. She smiled slightly at him and gestured to the foot of her bed opposite her, where he sat, looking around her at her bedroom.

"Does it feel weird to be home?" she asked. Henry shrugged.

"Kind of," he admitted. "Mostly because I know I've put you all through so much."

"It's not your fault, Dad," she said immediately, and Henry chuckled lightly at the words, which so closely echoed her sister's.

"That's what Alison said," he told her, and she smiled slightly.

"Then you know it's true, I guess," Stevie said, and Henry sighed.

"I'm sorry that I missed your birthday," he told her, and watched as she fiddled with the necklace that hung around her neck.

"Mom tried to make pancakes," she divulged. "It was-" she started to laugh, and as Henry was watching, her laughter devolved into tears.

"Come here," he murmured, and she folded herself against him. He held her close, running his hand over her light curls and along her back.

"It's okay," he said softly. "I've got you, Stevie. It's okay. I've got you."

She cried into his shoulder for what seemed like hours- for all Henry knew or cared, it might have been. He would have held her like that forever if she needed him to- if she wanted him to, if she let him.

"I'm sorry," she croaked eventually. "I just- I didn't cry at all, it was like I couldn't, and now I just can't stop."

"It's okay," Henry said softly, reaching tentatively toward her to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. He smiled slightly at her. "I don't care what you do, as long as I get to watch you do it." She was struck by his honesty, his ability to be real and raw with her. She appreciated that more than anything else; that he was willing to show her how much he'd struggled too, how much he still was.

"She tried to make pancakes?" Henry asked softly, and Stevie laughed.

"God, Dad, you should have seen the kitchen," she said. "It was- there was the smoke alarm and the flour was everywhere and she was-"

Suddenly, it didn't seem funny anymore, and the somber air of the situation settled over them.

"She was trying so hard," Stevie breathed. She looked up at her dad. "She wasn't herself, you know? It was like having a different person play the role of my mom for six months."

Henry hated the idea; that his Elizabeth was not herself, that he had done something to make that happen. To make her a somewhat unrecognizable version of herself.

"Neither was I," he admitted.

"No, I guess none of us were," Stevie said.

"I wrote you a letter, for your birthday," Henry said quickly; he watched her nervously for her reaction. He wasn't sure why the idea of it made him so nervous. He'd written the words for her, but now giving to her seemed so daunting, as if by doing so and merging his world during their time apart with hers, he was breaking some sort of safety barrier.

"You did?" she asked, and he nodded, pulling the folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handing it over to her. It didn't escape Stevie's notice that Henry's hands were trembling, and it made her feel worried. She had always found that the most uncomfortable part of becoming an adult; becoming disillusioned with her parents and aware that they were not perfect, that they had emotions and fears as much as she did. She took it from him.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and he followed her gaze to his shaking hands.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "Just nervous, I guess."

"Why?" she asked hesitantly, pausing in her opening of the letter to look at him.

"Because I was worried you'd all be different people, or because I was worried that nothing would fall back into place. Or that you'd all hate me for what I did," he admitted. Stevie could practically feel herself soften.

"Dad," she said softly. "We could never hate you."

"Alison asked if your mom and I were going to stay together," he admitted. Stevie shook her head.

"Alison was blind the whole time you were gone," she said. "She was so caught up in her own world. It seemed like she was closest to Mom, because of the sleeping in your bed thing. But-" Stevie shook her head. "She didn't really see any of us, you know? Mom missed you so much. If you were worrying that she won't love you, or that she won't be able to be with you again, don't," Stevie advised. Henry swallowed hard and hugged her again. She smiled slightly.

"Can I read this now?" she asked, and Henry nodded. He hesitated as she began to unfold the letter.

"Should I go?" he asked, but Stevie shook her head and reached out to take his hand, an innocent and sweet action which reminded Henry of when she was a little girl. His shaking fingers stilled beneath hers.

"Stay," she said, and he didn't move a muscle as he watched her read, marveling at the way she'd grown up. Not so long ago, Stevie had been difficult and impossible to reason with. Not long before that, she'd been a little girl with such fierce spunk and spiritedness. Now, she was a stubborn, fierce, spirited, compassionate, kind-hearted individual that took Henry's breath away. He couldn't help but be overwhelmed with emotion at the idea that he was still there, to witness her journey.

When Stevie had finished reading, she had tears streaming down her cheeks. She leaned in and hugged Henry fiercely, her fingers clutching at his shoulders.

"I love you so much," she said quietly. "I'm so glad you're home."

Henry, flooded with relief, held her just as tightly and wondered if he would ever be able to let go.


	16. Chapter 16

Elizabeth had remained in the kitchen following the family breakfast. Henry had gone upstairs to talk to the girls, and Jason had not moved from the kitchen table.

"Are you okay, Jace?" she asked softly as she cleared the dishes from the table. Jason looked up at her, and if Elizabeth had been asked to describe him then, she might have used the word 'meek', which was not an adjective which had ever before been attributed to Jason McCord.

"Do you hate me for how I acted while Dad was gone?" he asked suddenly, and Elizabeth whirled around to face him. He was watching her nervously, and Elizabeth immediately put down the dishes she was holding. She rounded the table, his keen gaze on her, and knelt before his chair.

"Jason Henry McCord," she began softly with her hand on his cheek. "I could never, _ever_ , hate you. You are one fourth of my whole universe. You have had my heart from the moment I knew you existed, and there is absolutely nothing you could ever do, Jace. I will love you, no matter what, until my dying breath and then some. Got it?"

Tears sparkled in his eyes- Jason hated how much he'd been crying lately, but he didn't seem able to help it. He wrapped his arms around his mother, and they existed there like that, locked in an awkwardly positioned but no less poignant mother-son tangle, until Jason felt he could breathe again and Elizabeth's heart seemed to have put itself back together.

"Come on," she said quietly. "You can help me with the dishes, okay?"

And for once, Jason didn't argue.

They had all spent the afternoon together as well, none of them talking very much. Their existence together as a family was enough for all of them, and they were all processing. The excitement of the night before and the emotional intensity of the day had taken a toll on them all as it had faded away, and the house was quiet for a lot of the day. Over dinner, which Henry cooked with help from Alison, who still found herself somewhat timid around her dad, they chatted about little things. It was a little bit forced, a little bit awkward, but they made it. Henry found himself just grateful to be able to hear things like when Jason and Alison would be out of school for Christmas break and the latest in inner-office politics between Matt and Daisy, who never seemed to be able to decide if they were going to make anything of their chemistry. It was the little things, he thought, that he'd missed more than he'd expected. He had known he would miss holding them and being there for them and being a part of his own life, but he had no idea how much he would miss the way Jason's sarcastic comments caught them all off guard sometimes or how Alison's subtly intuitive nature cropped up in the midst of conversation.

Later that evening, Alison leaned against Elizabeth on the couch. Henry was engaged in conversation with both Stevie and Jason, and Elizabeth had just been listening. Henry laughed at something that Stevie said, and she felt her breath catch at the sound. It was transcendent, she thought, to hear it again. Transformative. She could almost feel something inside her ease at the sound, like it was healing a part of her.

"Mom?" Alison said quietly, and she redirected her attention to her daughter.

"Yeah, baby?"

Alison hesitated, glancing back to ensure that her father and siblings were engaged in conversation and wouldn't hear her.

"I'm going to sleep in my room tonight," she said, and Elizabeth surveyed her.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "You don't have to do that yet if you're not ready, Alison."

"I'm sure," she said. "I want you and Dad to have a chance to be together. You know, just the two of you."

While Elizabeth appreciated that, she had to wonder in the back of her mind why that was of such importance to Alison.

"Okay," she said, deciding that it would be against her better judgement to press. She ran her fingers through Alison's hair. "You come and get me if you need to, okay? Promise?"

Alison smiled slightly and nodded. She could already see a change in her mom since the day before, and she found it comforting.

"Promise," she echoed.

Goodnights between Henry and the children took quite some time. Elizabeth, waiting for him in the bathroom as she got ready for bed to distract herself from her anxiousness, couldn't blame them. Some time later, Henry appeared in the closet and Elizabeth suddenly felt extremely nervous.

"Hey," Henry said softly. Elizabeth smiled slightly.

"Hi," she answered. She watched as Henry crouched down to sort through the clothes on the floor. She leaned her hip against the counter as he started hanging them back up.

"You're lucky," she remarked. He glanced at her quizzically and she nodded at the clothes.

"I was thinking of having them turned into a quilt."

Henry laughed in spite of himself, caught off guard by Elizabeth's dry wit and humor. She couldn't help but smile slightly at the sound. She'd missed making Henry laugh.

"I am lucky," Henry said quietly when the laughter had faded away. Elizabeth turned her eyes away from the closet and toward the bathroom mirror. Glancing down at the countertop, her eyes landed on her necklace. After the night she'd learned of Henry's death, she had retrieved the charms from where they had landed on the bathroom floor. She hadn't touched them since; she hadn't been able to stomach the idea of putting that necklace back on with the knowledge that the link to Henry it once symbolized was severed. Now, she glanced back at her husband, who was changing his shirt, and her eyes were drawn to the necklace that hung there against his chest. The sight made her throat close up and suddenly Elizabeth couldn't breathe. Henry looked back at her at the sound of her shuddering breath and found her leaning over the sink, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Henry froze; for the first time in his marriage to Elizabeth, he wasn't sure what to do with this. He wanted desperately to hold her, as he normally would have when she was upset like this. But after six months apart and the uncertainty that existed within him, he wasn't sure what to do. Elizabeth could practically feel him hovering behind her, watching her and not moving forward. Her panicked, overworked mind was spiraling; all she wanted was for Henry to take three steps forward and hug her. She craved the normalcy of Henry's touch, the normalcy that had once existed in their love for one another.

"Elizabeth?" Henry asked softly. "Are you okay?"

It sounded ridiculous even as he said it, and Henry could have kicked himself. He watched her continue to cry, and as she struggled for breath he couldn't help himself. He stepped forward and as she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned to him and seconds later, she was clinging to him as he held her up.

"Henry," she mumbled against his chest.

"Hey, shh," he soothed. "I'm right here, baby. I've got you."

Elizabeth wrapped her fingers around the fabric of his shirt and he wrapped her a little bit more tightly in his arms.

"I didn't wear the- I tore them off and-" she gasped, and Henry, having no idea what she was talking about, just ran his hand up and down her back.

"It's okay," he soothed. "It's okay, Elizabeth, I promise."

"But you were wearing- and I wasn't- but I didn't-"

She was crying so hard by this point that her words were nearly unintelligible, and Henry looked around wildly, trying to figure what she was talking about. Her words made no sense without context, and he didn't know how to soothe her without all of the information. His eyes landed on the necklace, resting on the bathroom counter untouched, and suddenly it all clicked into place.

"Oh, Elizabeth," he breathed. "Baby, is this about your necklace?"

She nodded wordlessly against him and Henry sighed, holding her tight.

"You're upset because you haven't been wearing it?" he guessed.

"Yes," she sobbed. "It was- a connection- and I didn't- I didn't know-"

"Yeah," he breathed. "You didn't know, babe. You can't beat yourself up, okay? You didn't know. You couldn't have known. It's okay."

"Elizabeth, I'm going to let you go, okay?" he said softly, forewarning her before he extracted himself from her. She watched him anxiously, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She'd been holding it together so well since Henry's return, for the sake of their kids. But now that she'd started to cry, she didn't seem able to stop.

"Here," Henry said softly, picking up her necklace and examining it. The clasp seemed to be working fine, so he spun the charms to face the right way and gently turned her around so that her back was to him. He hung the necklace around her neck and fastened it, watching over her shoulder as her fingers came up to wrap around the charms.

"There you go," he said. "Back where it belongs."

She bowed her head, thinking of all those weeks she went without wearing it while he wore his. It struck her how unlike his deployments this had been, in spite of the many similarities, and it occurred to her that she couldn't rationalize this in any way that she knew how to. There was so much to take in, and on this first night alone with Henry since his return home, it was occuring to Elizabethat that she had no idea how to handle this.

"I'm so scared, Henry," she admitted.

"Me, too," Henry answered. She looked back at him and the look in her eyes was frightening. There was fear and hopelessness there; she looked lost, as if she couldn't find her center, and Henry didn't know how to take that. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, to ask her, and yet he couldn't quite articulate any of it.

"Elizabeth?" he asked softly, and she looked up at him.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry for what I put you through. I'm sorry you had to do this all on your own. I'm- I'm so sorry."

"Oh, Henry," she sighed. She didn't have the words to express any of what she was feeling; not her gratitude at having Henry home, or her love for him, or her anger that he'd been taken away from their family. Instead, she just settled herself against his chest again, holding him tightly.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked, his breath brushing against her hair softly. She shook her head against him.

"No, babe," she breathed. "I think maybe I should be. I think there was a time when I would have been. But no, I'm not angry with you."

Henry swallowed the lump in his throat and held her even more tightly, wishing that he never had to let go of her.

"I have something to give you," he said before he could talk himself out of saying it. She glanced up at him in confusion and he took her hand, leading her back into the bedroom. She sat down on the bed, watching him as he reached for his bag. She could barely take her eyes off of him, not wanting to miss a single movement after having spent so long thinking she would never see him again. Having him there, right in front of her, felt strange and foreign as much as it felt like a natural home to her. He pulled a bundle of tri-folded pieces of paper from his bag and sat down next to her. She watched his hands tremble as he ran his fingers over the paper, concern taking over her curiosity. She reached out and rested her hand on his, and met his gaze as he looked up at her.

"Are you okay?" she asked. It suddenly occurred to her that they could easily be facing the sort of thing they had dealt with following Henry's return from war. Henry watched the concern on her face as she looked at his shaking hands, so like Stevie had been earlier, and he could have cried at the knowledge that her greatest concern in those moments was for his well-being.

"I'm okay," he breathed. "Just nervous." It was the same answer he'd given Stevie earlier in the day, but now it was even more true.

"It's just me, Henry," she said softly, lacing her fingers with his. He nodded his head; she was right. This was Elizabeth; she was his best friend, and she knew him better than anyone else in the world. He shouldn't be nervous with her.

"I wrote you these letters," he said, looking down at them. "When I was gone. I wanted to have something to give you when I got back, something that could maybe bridge the gap between us. Something to connect us, I guess." She fingered the necklace that had returned to its place around her neck. "I- this is all of them, start to finish. You don't have to read them if you-"

"Henry," she said, cutting him off. "Of course I'm going to read them," she told him. "Here, give them to me."

She took the letters and looked at him; he'd sleep better the night before than he had been prior to coming home, but still he looked worn and exhausted. She was overcome with a feeling of tender love for him, and couldn't resist brushing her fingers over his cheek.

"Sleep, babe," she said softly.

"I want to stay awake," he argued, but Elizabeth sighed.

"Hey, just...lie down for me, okay?" she begged. "You look so tired, Henry. Please just try to rest. For me?"

He couldn't resist her when she was looking at him like that, pleading with her blue eyes. He nodded his head.

"Alright," he agreed, awkwardly looking around. Elizabeth watched him; she'd never seen him so fearful and hesitant. It was unnerving, but mostly she just wanted to help. He was settling his head on his pillow, glancing hesitantly over at her.

"Come here, baby," she said softly. Caring for him gave her something to do, something with which to distract herself from her own fears and doubts. He watched her nervously, and she recalled their kiss from the early morning, his hesitation, his cautiousness.

"Henry, it's okay," she assured him. "Come here." He relented and settled against her instead, with his head in her lap against her hip. She ran her fingers through his hair and gently tugged the blankets until there was enough to wrap over his shoulders. Henry had to fight back tears at the tender way that she was caring for him. He wanted to believe that this all meant his eldest daughter was right and he and Elizabeth would be okay. Yet, his brain had not stopped nagging at him since he'd gotten home, berating him over what he'd done, and he just felt worse and worse.

He guessed that this would be the moment of truth- she would read the letters and when she finished them, she would have every piece of information he could give her. Then, it would be up to her to decide. Henry rested his fingers against her thigh and closed his eyes, praying that this wasn't going to be his last night with her.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I want to warn you guys, I read this to my sister and she cried. Like, full on sobbing. So just be aware and maybe have some tissues or something? Carry on.**

With Henry's head in her lap, Elizabeth ran her hand through his hair and could practically feel him becoming less tense. Henry had always been very kinesthetic; her touch could calm him like nothing else. It had always felt like a certain kind of magic to her, a magic she'd been grateful for during some of their worst periods as a couple. Their marriage had always been incredibly filled with love, but it was not without its rough patches. This, she supposed, was now counted among them. That alone filled Elizabeth with gratitude; she supposed she could be angry with Henry, or even should be, as she had told him earlier. But she wasn't. Since struggling through six months without him, Elizabeth had taken on a different view of the world. She wasn't angry, because she didn't have time to be. She was too busy being grateful, taking in every moment with him and treasuring each and every breath. That was what losing your husband and getting him back could do to a person, she guessed.

With Henry curled up in her lap, she picked the first letter off the stack and began to read. Two lines in, Elizabeth was in tears. Henry picked his head up from her thigh and looked at her in concern.

"No, I'm okay," she said. "Lie back down, Henry." He looked torn, but she fixed him with an expression he knew well and he settled back down against her. Elizabeth ran her hand over his shoulder and waited; she would return to reading once Henry fell asleep. A half- hour later, his breathing had evened out and, against his own wishes, Henry was sleeping against her. Satisfied that her crying would be much less likely to disturb him now, she returned to the letters. Elizabeth didn't stop reading for the next two hours. The letters detailed every struggle of the six months that Henry had spent away from them. She could feel his pain through his words, through the tearstained pages and angst-filled expressions of his deep regret and she read, she found that she was angry- but not with Henry. She was angry with Conrad for putting him in such a position. Conrad had to have known that Henry wouldn't be able to say no to something like this. Elizabeth was just as duty-bound as her husband, but she could see exactly why the President had chosen Henry, and it was not because he was the only person who could have done the job. It was because he was the only person who would never have dreamed of saying no to the President. She looked down at Henry, sleeping against her, and thanked their lucky stars that Conrad was nowhere nearby just then; Elizabeth was quite certain she would have had no qualms about punching him in the face for what he'd done to Henry, office of the President be damned. By the time she finished the final letter, a letter that had been written just the day before on Henry's journey home, she had half a mind to wake him just to assure him that she wasn't going anywhere. However, as she looked down at his sleeping figure, she couldn't bring herself to. Tomorrow, she told herself. For the time being, Elizabeth just sat and cried for everything he'd gone through and every moment they'd missed.

As his wife cried, unbeknownst to her, Henry was caught in a subconscious nightmare.

 _He watched her set aside his final letter and turn to him, her face expressionless._

" _I'm sorry," she began, "but I can't. I need you to go."_

 _His heart was shattering in his chest and Henry couldn't breathe. His lungs no longer seemed to be functioning properly._

" _You said that you weren't angry," he whispered, and she shook her head._

' _I'm not," she replied. "But things were just getting easier. It just isn't going to work the way it used to, Henry. You can see the kids, and-"_

" _But I want to see you," he sobbed, kneeling before her, willing to do anything she asked of him except leave her. She turned her beautiful features away from him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Henry couldn't understand; he'd been so worried, but now...this couldn't be happening. He couldn't lose Elizabeth._

" _Please leave," she said, two words he'd never imagined he would hear coming out of her mouth. Not like this._

" _Elizabeth, I love you," he pleaded, but she still just shook her head, pulling her hand from his grasp as she tugged her wedding band off of her finger and held it out ot him._

" _Go, Henry," she said sadly. "This was your decision. It's time to face the consequence."_

Elizabeth noticed as soon as Henry's breath hitched in his sleep. He tensed against her, his fingers curling around the fabric of her loose pajama pants. His knuckles turned white and his whole body seemed to curl in on itself. She knew exactly what was happening in seconds, and her heart broke for him.

"No," he breathed. "Stay-"

His body convulsed in an unconscious sob, and Elizabeth shook him by his shoulder.

"Henry, wake up," she pleaded. "Come on, Henry. Wake up for me, okay?" She shook him more forcefully as he called her name. A moment later, Henry was pulled from sleep by her soft words, and he pulled back, looking around in panic.

"Hey, hey," she soothed. He looked over at her and saw his nightmare play out in his mind, saw her turn away from him and tell him to go. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he struggled to catch his breath.

"No, Elizabeth," he breathed. "Don't- I can't go."

"Hey, shh," Elizabeth soothed. "Baby, nobody's making you go anywhere. You're right here with me, Henry, just breathe."

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Please don't make me go, Elizabeth."

Even after his deployments, she'd never seen him like this. Pushing away her own fear, she reached out to him, brushing her fingers over his cheek as she raised his eyes to meet her own.

"Henry, breathe," she instructed gently. "I'm not making you go anywhere. You're home now, okay? You're home, safe and sound. Right here with me, alright?"

Henry reached for her and then drew his hand back, as if he was afraid of what might happen if he touched her.

"Come here, honey," Elizabeth said, reaching out for him. At her touch, he seemed to crumble, curling against her. She held him tightly as he sobbed against her; it was as if all the emotion of the last six months was being injected into that moment.

"It's okay," Elizabeth soothed. "Shh, shh. I've got you, babe. I've got you. It's okay."

"I couldn't- you said-"

"Henry, sweetheart, it was just a dream," she assured him. "Just a dream, okay? It wasn't real, baby, I promise. Just take a breath for me, Henry, okay?"

She tried to keep the edge of panic out of her voice; she hated seeing him like this, and just wanted to make it okay again. Wanted him to know that she wasn't going anywhere, that they were going to be okay, and that she was intending to be at his side every day for the rest of their lives.

Henry gasped for air as he clung to Elizabeth; he couldn't shake the nightmare, it had been all too real. He wrapped his fingers around her tee shirt, tried to focus on the sound of her voice and block out the nightmare version of Elizabeth who was sending him away.

"Elizabeth," he breathed.

"I'm right here, Henry," she said softly. "It's okay, baby. Just breathe."

"Please don't end it," he managed to whisper against her neck, and Elizabeth's heart seemed to shatter in her chest. She understood now why he'd been so hesitant to give her the letters; he had been worried she would read the final one and send him away, or leave herself. She held him a little bit more tightly and found that she was starting to wish Conrad was right in front of her; she would very much have liked to punch him just then.

"Oh, Henry," she sighed against him, pressing her lips to his head. "Look at me," she implored, and tilted his head up so that she could meet his eyes. She ran her fingertips over his cheeks, swiping away tears from his sleep-warmed skin.

"Henry, listen to me," she began seriously. "I read your letters."

He drew in a sharp breath that echoed panic, and she shook her head.

"No, no, baby, calm down," she soothed. "I read your letters," she repeated, "and I'm not going anywhere. You and I are a forever thing, Henry McCord, no matter what. This is not ending today- this is not ending, _ever_. You hear me? I am right here with you, Henry. I promise you, it's going to be okay. Alright?"

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, and she shook her head, pulling him in close to her again. She cradled him against her and tried not to think about the way he was trembling.

"Shh," she soothed. "You don't need to be sorry, Henry. You did what you had to do. I know that. I'm not angry with you, Henry, I promise. I'm so proud of you for saving those people, and I'm so grateful that you're home." She took a deep breath and kissed his forehead.

"It's going to be okay, babe. We're going to get through it together, just like we always do. I promise."

"I love you so much, Elizabeth," he said, his voice breaking.

"I know," she assured him. "I love you too, Henry. So much more than I have the words for."

"Why aren't you angry?" Henry asked softly, finally starting to calm down.

"Because I'm just so glad you're safe, and here, and that I don't have to do it alone anymore," she answered honestly. She pulled away from him and he tensed at the loss of contact, but Elizabeth took his hand and squeezed it lightly.

"Just turning the light off," she said quietly, and flicked the lamp off, plunging the room into She settled in beside him and they curled into one another, wrapped up together in a warm, heart-achingly familiar embrace.

"I am angry," she began, and felt him go very still. "Not at you, Henry," she added in assurance.

"At who?" he asked.

"At Conrad," she replied. "He had no business taking advantage of you the way he did. But we don't need to worry about it right now. We'll deal with it later."

He watched him as he physically fought sleep in the half-light of their bedroom.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that, Henry," she murmured. Henry shook his head.

"Thank you for still being here," he breathed.

"Always," Elizabeth answered. "Close your eyes, baby."

Henry met her gaze, and she saw unmistakable fear in his hazel eyes.

"I'll be right here if you need me," she promised him. "We're doing this together, okay? But you've got to rest, Henry."

He nodded, knowing that she was right, and shifted a fraction of an inch closer to her.

"Come here," she murmured, knowing instinctively what he wanted. He needed to be close to her, as much as she needed to be close to him. She tangled herself thoroughly with him, until there were barely any parts of their bodies that weren't touching. Slowly, they both fell asleep like that, wrapped up together in a tangle of limbs that neither of them had any desire to unravel. Henry's last thought before he fell asleep was one of immense gratitude for the woman in his arms, without whom he was certain he wouldn't be himself at all.


	18. Chapter 18

For the first solid week after Henry's return home, no one left the house. The McCords were determined to spend as much time with Henry as they possibly could. They'd spent one day decorating the Georgetown home for Christmas, and the place was filled with a festive energy that Elizabeth had been quite sure would never exist there again. Nights were hard; Henry was insecure at times, and she was struggling to get her head around all the things that had fallen back into her life. But mostly they were grateful. A majority of the time could find Henry and Elizabeth tangled up together one way or another; holding hands or cuddling. The children would once have called them out for it, but not now. None of them had the heart to, nor wanted to.

Today, however, was going to be a little bit different for them all. Stevie, Alison, and Jason had been invited to a Christmas party, and after much debate, had decided to go. As they stood in the hallway and shrugged into their coats, Henry had his arm wrapped around Elizabeth on the couch.

"Are you guys sure this is a good idea?" Alison asked, and Henry sighed. He squeezed his wife's shoulder and stood, heading into the hallway with the kids.

"Yes," he said as he wrapped Alison in a hug. "It's going to be fine, Noodle. You guys go and have a good time. We're going to be right here when you get back, alright? I promise."

Alison nodded and each of the children hugged Henry tightly, even though they had already done so a few minutes earlier. With final goodbyes and calls to Elizabeth, the kids were ushered out the door and the house was occupied only by Henry and Elizabeth for the first time since Henry had gotten home. Henry settled back onto the couch and Elizabeth leaned back into him. She closed her eyes briefly as he wrapped his strong arms around her and she melted against his chest. She sighed contentedly and Henry let his eyes rest on the Christmas tree. It was decorated beautifully, and with ornaments that told the story of their lives. Handmade ones from their children, ones that they'd bought on vacations, gifts from people who had played important roles in their lives. Henry held Elizabeth a little bit tighter and dropped his head to press his lips against the tender flesh of her neck.

"It's so quiet," he marveled.

"No," she replied. "Compared to two weeks ago, this is...not even quiet."

She was speaking not necessarily to the sound in the house so much as the atmosphere of it, and Henry couldn't resist pulling her a little bit closer. She didn't object; she couldn't get close enough to Henry these days.

Elizabeth turned her head and kissed him lightly, but when she moved to pull away, Henry pulled her closer with a gentle hand at the back of her head, his fingers buried in her blonde hair. He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth and she twisted to face him. He pulled away, a little breathless, and met her blue eyes.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly, and Elizabeth nodded her head, leaning in to rest her forehead against Henry's. She rested her hand against his cheek and he leaned into her touch.

"Love me," she breathed, and Henry didn't need to be told twice. He considered briefly moving this whole operation upstairs, but after six months and one week of desperately wanting to be with her, and finally getting his chance, he didn't think he could be bothered. He ran his fingers along the neckline of her warm, navy blue sweater, and over her shoulders until he could reach the hem. He tugged at it until it was over her head, and tossed it aside before glancing back at her. His breath caught at the sight of her. She paused as his eyes landed on her and glanced down.

"What?" she asked, suddenly sounding nervous. Henry shook his head.

"You're just- gorgeous," he breathed. Her cheeks tinged pink and she leaned in to kiss him to disguise her suddenly erratic heartbeat. Henry wasn't fooled though; six months apart had not diminished his deep knowledge of Elizabeth, and he pulled away from the kiss to look at her. His hazel eyes were filled with concern.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked her softly, his hand on her jaw in a gentle, loving caress.

"I need this," she replied earnestly. " _We_ need this."

Henry nodded; he agreed, but he couldn't continue without being sure with her first.

"Okay," he breathed, and Elizabeth took her turn to tug at his shirt, slipping it over his head. She'd had only glimpses of his body over the last week, in between shirts or after showers. Now, they were free to gaze upon one another more slowly, and neither of them seemed to be able to get a long enough look. Elizabeth ran her palms over Henry's broad chest and her right hand came to rest over his heart, feeling the steady beat against her. It grounded her, and she took a slow, steadying breath. The heart that she'd been certain was still now beat against her palm, a physical reminder of the lungs that took in air and let it out again, of the sweet, gentle, protective, loving soul that inhabited the physical body before her. Elizabeth was reminded in that moment of Henry's faith; she'd never believed in God the way that he did, but right then she had to wonder. And more than that, she had to thank whomever or whatever was running a universe that was beautiful enough to have brought that soul, that body, that heart, back home to her, and given them a little bit more time together. She pressed herself against him and kissed him again, more deeply and more passionately as Henry's hands hesitated just briefly at the clasp of her bra before he undid it. Undressing one another was a ritual of theirs; it always had been, and Elizabeth was glad to see that it had not fallen behind in their time apart. Henry discarded the garment and slowly began a trail of kisses along her neck and chest, resting over her heart for a moment as she had his, taking his own time to be thankful that they'd ended up together again, that he'd been able to return home to her. He pressed reverent kisses to her breast and Elizabeth felt a shiver run through her at the sensation. She buried her hands in his hair and leaned her head back, loose golden curls brushing against Henry's hands where he was holding her. He slowly lowered her to a resting place on the couch and hovered above her, watching the way the Christmas tree lights made her skin glow. She wordlessly tugged him to her for another kiss and, as his tongue brushed against hers, she moved her hands to his belt and undid it, tugging at the button and the zipper. She pushed his jeans over his hips and he braced himself against the couch to free his hand so that he could do the same to her. He sighed in frustration as he realized he didn't have the space he needed, but Elizabeth's glance at the open space in the floor had him pulling away from her with an idea.

"Think we're too old for the floor?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"Not at the moment, but ask me again in a couple of hours," she replied. Henry couldn't help but laugh even as he spread the thick quilt Stevie had left on the back of the couch over the carpet. He reached out to Elizabeth and she moved quickly from the couch to the floor, now both of them sans jeans. He rested on his hip next to her and slowly trailed his fingers over her skin as he kissed her deeply. She sighed contentedly against him, and he was struck by her newfound patience. He couldn't count the times she'd hurried him through foreplay and pre-coital adoration to get to the point; now, she seemed content to let him explore and to do so herself. Henry certainly wasn't going to complain about that. Elizabeth drew him in with her hand on his waist and pressed her lips against his neck, sucking gently- not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make him draw in a breath. He hovered closely over her now, and tugged at the waistband of her underwear- his had been pulled off alongside his jeans. With both of them completely exposed now, Elizabeth could feel the heat radiating between them.

Henry slowly traced his hand along her stomach and hesitated just at her pelvis, as if waiting for permission. Elizabeth shifted slightly to allow him access, and her wordless invitation was enough. He brushed his hand rhythmically against her pulsing center and watched her face. She squirmed slightly under him and he stopped. Something wasn't right. Not only was Elizabeth uncharacteristically silent, but she seemed closed off somehow. When his fingers stilled, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"What is it?" he asked, and she shook her head as if she were about to dismiss his question.

"Elizabeth," he pressed. "I'm not going any further until you tell me what's wrong."

She sighed, turning her head away from him briefly. Pleading, earnest blue eyes looked up at him from the floor, raw and uncertain.

"Promise you won't be upset with what I'm about to say," she begged, and Henry nodded.

"I promise," he assured her seriously.

"I'm scared and I need you to be really gentle," she said, all in a rush. Henry couldn't help but think of the insecure young woman he'd known so long ago. In many ways, he thought, this was quite like their first time. They'd not gone this long without sex since his deployment, and on top of that she'd been under the belief that this would never be happening again. He brushed his hand through her hair, gently moving it away from her face.

"It's okay to be scared," he assured her. "And I promise I'll be gentle, Elizabeth," he said softly. "As gentle as I can possibly be, okay?" She nodded slightly. "But," he continued, "You have to promise me you'll tell me to stop if you need me to, alright? I won't be upset if you need to stop, but I will be upset if you just stay quiet and let me hurt you." His hazel eyes were warm and serious as they met hers. She nodded her head, already feeling slightly less fearful under his familiar assurances. It had been a great number of years since she'd needed them, but now Henry seemed to slip back into that role as easily as he'd fallen into it in the first place, all those years before.

"I promise," she breathed, and then her lips were on his again, a clear signal to him to continue. He slowly resumed his small, stroking movements against her with his fingers, carefully working her back up to where she'd been. When she leaned her hips into his touch, he began to move his fingers just slightly faster and watched as she let her eyes flutter closed, bliss on her face above all the worry and fear.

"Henry," she breathed. He knew that tone; light and breathy and eager. It made him smile slightly to hear it again, and he leaned in to kiss her, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth. Her hand found him and he suppressed a shiver.

"Don't do that," Elizabeth mumbled.

"Don't do what?" he managed.

"Hold yourself back," she answered, and he knew exactly what she'd meant; she could innately sense that he was trying to make this all about her, and in true Elizabeth Adams McCord fashion, she wasn't having it.

He kissed her hungrily and she smiled slightly against him, stroking him with her hand as he flicked his tongue against hers. He hummed in appreciation against her and she quickened her movements. She pressed herself against his hand and he gently slipped his fingers against her entrance.

"Are you ready for this part?" he asked softly, so quietly that had the house not been so quiet, she would never have heard him. She nodded her head, biting her lip lightly.

"Okay," Henry breathed and Elizabeth moved to allow him access to her; he slowly and carefully slipped two fingers into her and she moaned quietly.

"You okay?" he asked, and she nodded quickly.

"Henry, I need-" she began, and he watched her carefully.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yes, but- slowly," she said, sounding apologetic.

"Okay, love," he breathed, and she felt something ease in her chest; something about the way he spoke calmed her. "Don't hesitate to stop me, Elizabeth," he pleaded, and she nodded.

"Henry, just- please," she begged, and he slowly slid himself into her, watching as she arched her back in response. Tears gathered in her eyes and slowly made their way down her cheeks. Henry started to pull away, but she pressed her hips up to him, shaking her head.

"Stay," she whispered, and he held her shoulders protectively, watching her.

"Elizabeth," he murmured, and she shook her head.

"I'm not- you're not hurting me," she managed. She pulled him down to her; his weight on top of er was comforting and she rested her forehead against his shoulder. She sobbed against him and Henry felt tears sting his eyes. He slowly moved above her and turned his head to kiss the tears on her cheeks, suddenly having understood why she was crying. It wasn't out of pain or fear, but rather of raw emotion and the most intense kind of gratitude, a release of multiple layers all at once.

"I'm here," he murmured against her, tears clinging to his own eyelashes. "I've got you, Elizabeth, I'm right here. It's over, baby."

"Henry," she cried as her fingers dug into the skin on his back, as if she were reminding herself of his presence.

"It's okay," he breathed through his tears. "It's okay, babe. Let go for me, alright? It's safe now. You can let go."

Her climax and his seemed to overlap one another as they clung to each other there on the floor beside their Christmas tree.

"Elizabeth." Henry spoke her name like a prayer, a broken sob surrounded by reverent, deep love and gratitude for the woman he was holding in his arms. She cried out, something primal and unsteady, like the last battle cry of her grief as it clung to her while she shook it off. It was time to let go, just as Henry had said. Time to shed that part of her life and take a step forward. Henry was very much alive, and her grief for him no longer held a place in her life. Henry had taken that place, and these moments only cemented it. She took a shuddering intake as Henry moved off of her and she rolled toward him, tangling them thoroughly, nearly every inch of their naked bodies pressed together. Elizabeth buried her head in his neck, her body still trembling as he held tight to her and buried his nose against her hair, taking a slow, deep breath.

"I love you," he said, his voice shaking. "God, I love you."

"I love you," she answered, her warm breath washing over his skin as she clung to him. "Don't ever leave me like that again, Henry," she begged. "I can't do that again."

"No," he answered as he smoothed his hand over her hair and drew her in more closely. "No, baby, I promise. I'm never leaving you willingly again. Never, okay? I promise."

She nodded against him and just held him a little bit more tightly.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, but Elizabeth shook her head.

"Time to stop apologizing, babe," she said softly, finally pulling away to look up at him and tracing a loving hand over his cheek and jaw. "It's over," she said quietly, her words echoing his from moments before. "Time to let go."

And there on the floor of the home they were sharing again, Henry and Elizabeth took one shaky step forward.


	19. Chapter 19

Elizabeth stood in front of her bathroom mirror, gazing at her own reflection. There was definitely something different about her now, she had decided. Two weeks after Henry's return, and just days before Christmas, things were starting to normalize a little bit. The dust was settling, and she was left to look around and see where her priorities were. She had a meeting with the President this morning; he'd invited her to the White House to speak with her, and she'd agreed to go. It would be her first time leaving Henry, and as she took her eyes off the reflective glass in front of her, she looked through the closet and into the bedroom. In her peripheral vision, Henry's clothes hung on their hangers, right where they belonged. One step forward found Henry himself, sleeping peacefully with his head on his pillow. He'd turned over since she had left the bed, as if his subconscious mind had led his body to follow hers. She smiled slightly at the sight of him there, and she took one last glance at herself in the mirror to ensure that she looked alright before she let her high heels carry her back into the bedroom. She sat lightly on the edge of the mattress and ran her fingers through Henry's hair. He stirred and her heart stumbled in her chest slightly; she was still getting used to having him home, being able to wake him so easily and have his long lashes flutter to reveal warm hazel eyes that lit up at the sight of her. He blinked sleepily at her and started to sit up, but she pushed him back down gently.

"No, babe, stay," she said. "I just wanted to say goodbye to you before I go to this meeting."

"Mmm," Henry hummed in understanding, looking her up and down.

"Eyes up here, McCord," she teased, and his lips were tugged into a smile that made the dimple in his cheek appear. He met her gaze.

"You look beautiful," he said sincerely.

"Don't I always?" she fired back at him and he groaned.

"I'm still half-asleep," he said. "Can't blame me for anything I say."

"I so can," Elizabeth laughed, leaning in to kiss him. "But I won't," she added. She started to pull away and stand, but he caught her by the hand and she looked back.

"You'll be home soon, right?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yeah, babe. Just a couple of hours at most." She smiled her dazzling smile at him and leaned in again for another kiss. "I bet I'll be back in time to do breakfast with you," she said reassuringly. Henry didn't like being away from her; since coming home, the thought made him panicky. She could see it in his eyes; no matter how much they were slowly finding their footing again, this was hard for him. She sat back down and ran her hand through his hair.

"Close your eyes; I'll sit with you until you fall asleep again," she said. "I just didn't want you to wake up and find me gone with no warning."

"You don't have to-"

"I do," she said firmly, and Henry nodded; he was still very tired, and sleep did sound nice. With Elizabeth there at his hip, he closed his eyes.

"Love you," he mumbled, and she smiled even though he couldn't see her.

"Love you, too," she said softly, and twenty minutes later she tore herself away from him and out the front door.

At the White House, Elizabeth strode through the halls toward Russell Jackson's office with purpose. She didn't knock, but when Russell looked up and saw who it was, he bit back the snappy comment he'd had ready. She looked good; much better than she had the last time he'd seen her, and there was something about her that was different now than even before Henry's "death". She carried herself differently, as if she knew something that the rest of them didn't and she no longer needed any of them around her.

"Elizabeth," Russell said, and she smiled slightly at him.

"Hey, Russell," she replied. They looked at one another for a moment.

"How's Henry?" he asked, and Elizabeth nodded.

"He's doing well, all things considered," she said, and tilted her head slightly, studying him with razor sharp eyes.

"You knew," she said. It wasn't a question, but a statement, measured and even. Russell swallowed hard.

"Not at first," he said. "Not when I came to your house."

"Remind me to get that casserole dish back to you and Carol," she remarked, and then she was gone before he had a chance to say anything more. Elizabeth didn't need to hear his thoughts on the matter; she knew where she stood, and truthfully, she knew where Russell stood, too. She was finished listening. Russell's apology died in his throat as she stepped into the oval office.

Conrad Dalton looked up and stood as Elizabeth entered. He, too, noticed what Russell had seen in her. She had always been powerful; she could command a room with a single glance, but now there was something more there, and even Conrad was seized by the urge to back away from her. She looked eerily calm, and it unnerved him immediately.

"Bess," he said, already sounding apologetic. Elizabeth offered him a tight smile and nodded her head as she extended her hand to shake his.

"Mr. President," she said.

"Conrad, please," he implored, and Elizabeth shook her head as they both took their seats.

"I'd rather not," she said, never once taking her eyes off of him. "I like to be on a first name basis with people I consider friends." He seemed to shrink a little in his seat.

"Elizabeth, I had to-" he began, and she shook her head.

"You didn't," she said. "You sent Henry on that mission because you knew he wouldn't say no to you. You took advantage of him, of me, of a longstanding relationship between the two of us. Of the trust between us." She shook her head, leaned back, and crossed one leg over the other.

"You have every right to be angry," he said, and she nodded steadily.

"You're damn right, I do," she said. She still had not taken her eyes off of him. "You tore my family apart, and for what?"

"Lives were saved here," he began, and she nodded.

"Yes, thanks to Henry, lives were saved. But nothing comes without a price, and this price? Six months of one worst day of my life after the other. Six months of him tearing himself apart over duty to country versus duty to family. Six months of one of my daughters sleeping in my bed while the other one barely spoke and my son was so angry he could hardly think. So far, two weeks of nightmares." She shook her head again. "You know what I did before I came here this morning, Mr. President?" she asked. Silently, he shook his head 'no'.

"I woke my husband to let him know I was leaving and then I sat with him for a half-hour so he could get back to sleep because the idea of being apart from me is enough to send him into a panic right now. I'm sure you're familiar enough with Henry to know how out of character that is, so I'm going to trust that I don't need to go into any more detail to get across what you've done to him, and that's not even the tip of the iceberg when it comes to me and to our children." He hung his head, but Elizabeth wasn't done.

"You stood in my house that night and looked me in the eye and you told me that my husband was dead," she continued. "You told me that he was never coming home, and you looked me in the eye again, every day after I came back to work. You saw me, sir, and you knew exactly what you'd done. You saw my daughter in that office-" she punctuated her words by pointing toward Russell's office "-every day. You looked at her, the girl that your son grew up with, the child that you watched grow up, and let her believe that her father was dead. You let us all suffer, and you can say it was for the greater good, and…" she trailed off and shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe it was," she said. "Maybe it was for the greater good. But I think the real question here is was it worth it?"

She met his eyes.

"Was it worth it to tear us all down?" she asked. "Was it worth it to break a nearly thirty-year friendship? Was it worth it to lose your Secretary of State?"

His head snapped up to look at her; without quite realizing it, Elizabeth had stood up. She no longer felt angry, per se; in fact, she felt strangely and completely calm. She knew what she had to do; she'd known it since holding Henry in her arms that night as he cried, with his letters to her by her side. She'd known it every moment since, that she could never go back to the woman she'd been before. That included this, all of this. Her relationship with Conrad, the trust there, the foundation on which she'd built this career that she hadn't wanted in the first place. It was no longer worth it- not to Elizabeth. Affecting change didn't matter anymore. She'd had a glimpse of the darkest possible version of her life, one without Henry, and she wasn't willing to waste another second.

"Elizabeth-"

"No," she said calmly. "I've made up my mind, Conrad. You made this decision. You chose to put Henry in that position, and you knew what you were doing. You get to be the one to face the consequence of this." She reached for her purse and looked down at him. "I'm going home to Henry," she told him, "and if you take anything from this, I hope it's that next time you think about tearing someone's family apart for the greater good, you think about Lydia and Harrison first, and consider for a minute what it might be like. Don't take a moment for granted, okay?"

"Bess-"

"I quit," she said flatly, and with a steady turn of her heel, Elizabeth McCord walked out of the Oval Office, through Russell's past his calls to her, and into the hallway, headed back toward home and Henry, right where she belonged.


	20. Epilogue

_One year later…_

Henry watched Elizabeth as she stood in front of the picture window in the living room of the farmhouse. Her hands were curled around a warm mug and she was dressed in yoga pants and a gray sweatshirt, with fuzzy socks on her feet and her blonde hair, which had grown quite a bit in the last year, pulled up with a hair tie. Her back was to him, but he could tell by just a glance at her posture that she was relaxed and calm. She was framed by the early morning light that streamed in and beyond the window panes, snow fell lightly to the already-white ground. Next to her, the Christmas tree stood like a statuesque guardian above her five-foot-eight frame. It was a picturesque scene, and Henry's absolute favorite kind of scene to feast his eyes upon. He'd risen from their bed when he had awaken to find her missing; even a year after the ordeal that had brought them here, he didn't like to be without her if possible, and she was normally much the same. It was abnormal now for one of them to rise without the other, and on this early December morning, the house was very still. He'd been relieved to find her there in the living room, looking perfectly safe and happy. Now, he approached quietly and when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, she didn't jump at all, but rather just sank back into his chest.

"Good morning," he mumbled against her, his lips on the tender, smooth flesh beneath her ear. She felt her features being tugged into a smile at the contact and leaned her head back against his shoulder, turning to press a kiss to his jawline.

"Good morning," she replied softly.

"You doing okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?" Elizabeth replied, reaching out to set her mug on the nearby end table and turning to face him, his arms still wrapped around her.

"I just wasn't expecting you to be awake," he said. "It's early."

"Yeah," Elizabeth agreed, leaning her head forward to rest it on his shoulder with a slow, deep breath.

"Henry, do you know what day it is?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Henry thought about that for a moment, and then it hit him

"Oh," he breathed. "I've been home for a year today."

"Mmhmm," Elizabeth hummed and Henry instinctively drew her in a little bit closer as he reflected on the last year. After Elizabeth had quit her job, they'd had an explosive family meeting in which a myriad of opinions on that were expressed, but in the end the children were understanding of the decision. They had spent one last Christmas together in the Georgetown house, and then taken a trip to visit Henry's family in Pittsburgh. Maureen, naturally, had accused Elizabeth of knowing all along that Henry was alive.

"With her CIA connections?" she'd scoffed. "Doubtful."

But Elizabeth saw the way Maureen hugged Henry, tighter than normal and with something akin to desperation hidden behind her tough front. Elizabeth didn't say anything to her sister-in-law. Gone were the days when Maureen's comments might have bothered Elizabeth. In early January, they'd begun their move back to the farmhouse. Stevie had deliberated over giving up her internship with Russell Jackson; her parents had been transparent with her when she had asked if Russell had known that Henry was alive, and ultimately she'd followed alongside her mother's decision-making process and quit, taking Russell's casserole dish with her to the office when she did. She, like the rest of them, were transformed by the whole experience. None of them were the same people they'd been. Stevie was pursuing law school again, and behind the scenes she had devoted herself to writing a book- a project that Henry and Elizabeth had both assumed was long-forgotten. Alison had taken a semester off from school, and she spent a lot of time with Henry once the move back to Virginia was complete. They toured churches together at Alison's request and in June, Elizabeth saw her sketching at her desk for the first time in a year. The change was, perhaps, most clearly seen in Jason. He maintained his sense of humor and his opinions on government; perhaps the latter had been fueled by the whole experience, in fact. But he was now reminiscent of the tender, loving child he'd been in a lot of ways. He was not hesitant to express affection to any member of the family, and Elizabeth had observed him more than once making an effort to reach out to and make up with his sisters after their bickering. He hugged his parents every day without fail, and never let Henry's _I love you_ 's go unanswered.

As for Henry and Elizabeth, things had been decidedly different. They both seemed to have reverted somewhat to their pre-Washington relationship. It was even better now, though- at least, as far as Elizabeth was concerned. She'd never appreciated Henry more, even now that things had settled into a new normal. They both loved being back at the farm; for the first eight months there, neither of them had worked. They had spent a great deal of time together, riding through the woods on horseback and cooking and playing very intense rounds of Scrabble. They also talked a lot; Elizabeth had to reassure Henry a lot at first, and he had woken up more than one time to find her in tears. It was healing to get out of DC, though; that had helped a great deal. At the farm, there were only happy memories of their time together, and no reminders of the six months they had spent apart. By the time they both took their jobs at UVA back in August, much to the eagerness of the staff, they had covered nearly every moment of the six months they'd spent apart- Henry couldn't help but laugh as she recounted her interaction with Alan in the elevator and he told her how grateful he was to her brother and to Blake, who had both been a great deal of help to her. Elizabeth's staff had been the only people who had objected to her giving up her job as Secretary of State. The first time they all made the pilgrimage to the farmhouse for dinner, however, and saw her in her element with her family, happy and relaxed, they decided that it had been the right choice after all.

Now, one year after Henry's return, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her husband and settled herself against his broad chest, reveling in the way it felt to be in his arms. Not a day went by anymore in which she wasn't immensely grateful, but today most especially. She looked up at him and met his hazel eyes and Henry smiled slightly at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Elizabeth smiled.

"I have you," she said simply. "I'm okay."

"It's been quite a year," Henry said, and Elizabeth nodded her head. She traced her fingers over his cheek and he watched her eyes as she took in every inch of him. Sometimes, she looked at him like that; like she was seeing him for the last time. It was a reminder to herself, not to take Henry for granted, to love him fiercely, like she was running out of time- because she was. They all were. That was ultimately the lesson that Elizabeth had taken from the whole awful, heartbreaking, terrible experience.

"It has," she agreed. She stood up on her toes ever so slightly, bracing herself against him with her hands on his shoulders, her wedding ring catching the light of the Christmas tree, and pressed her lips against his. He kissed her eagerly, and his fingers settled at the back of her skull, drawing her in close while his other hand rested on her lower back. She didn't pull back until it became a necessity to draw in a breath, and then Henry, leaning down to her, rested his forehead against hers.

"Happy one year, Elizabeth," he breathed, and she echoed the sentiment back at him as she closed her fingers around the necklace that hung against the fabric of his War College sweatshirt. though it sounded odd, Elizabeth couldn't help but think that this landmark anniversary, which marked the end of the worst six months of her life, was exactly that- happy.

 **A/N: Hi everyone! Firstly, thank you a million times from the bottom of my heart for reading. You've all been so kind, both here and on tumblr and even on twitter. It's been quite a journey with the McCords and with all of you! I honestly don't have the words for the gratitude I have for you lovely and wonderful people. Your love for this story has made me so happy and continues to amaze me. My first foray into a Madam Secretary multi-chapter has been a raging success, and I have you all to thank for it so...thank you! Six Months (the original) may be ending, but if you haven't already, you can check out my series of Six Months-related one-shots (The Six Months Outtakes) and of course Collections From The McCord Files. Hopefully soon my next multi-chapter will be starting and you'll have something to beg me for again. :) I love you all to pieces, thank you for this beautiful journey. x**


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